


In Your Image

by menel



Series: The "Image" Arc [1]
Category: Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, First Time, Friendship, M/M, Resolved Sexual Tension, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-23 05:22:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 34,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/618560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/menel/pseuds/menel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Legolas is given a second chance at love from an unexpected source, but will he be able to overcome his feelings for Aragorn to find happiness at last?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Summons

**Author's Note:**

> Setting: Post RotK 
> 
> Only unknown characters are mine. Nothing else belongs to me, not even the plot which is courtesy of Lady Osolone and originally posted as a challenge in the Library of Moria. This fic is dedicated to her. Special thanks to Liadon for beta reading. 
> 
> It amazes me that this is the first piece of fanfiction that I ever wrote 10 years ago. For that reason alone, this story will always be special to me although I doubt I'll ever be able to write anything this romantic ever again. I hope people still enjoy it.

“I’m sorry, my Lord,” Lindfir said regretfully, as he bowed to the Steward of Gondor. “We have been searching for the Prince for several days now with no success.” 

Faramir sighed. “Does the Prince do this often?” he asked. “Or does he only disappear when he knows he is being summoned?” 

“It is our way to desire solitude from time to time,” Lindfir replied. “If the Prince does not wish to be found, then he shall not be.” 

“There are other ways of finding that Elf,” interrupted a gruff voice. 

Both Faramir and Lindfir turned to see Gimli striding into the room. 

“Perhaps you merely searched in the wrong places.” 

Lindfir arched a delicate eyebrow as he looked at the Dwarf, amusement playing at the edges of his smile. The fast friendship between his Lord and the Dwarf was well known among his people. Although not all approved, the Dwarf was accorded respect as the Prince wished. “Master Dwarf,” Lindfir said slowly, “if you know of some places we may have missed, we would be glad to have your assistance.” 

Gimli nodded. “I have a few in mind.” He turned to Faramir. “By tomorrow morn that Elf shall be ready to travel to Minas Tirith,” he promised, “and I shall escort him there myself.”

~*~*~*~

Gimli gazed up at the rapidly darkening sky. He had spent the day roaming the woods of Ithilien and was beginning to understand the meaning behind Lindfir’s words, _If the Prince does not wish to be found, then he shall not be._ But Dwarvish pride refused to let him give up, at least not without trying every place he knew of and there was one more he had yet to check. With one last glance at the evening sky Gimli marched into the woods once more.

~*~*~*~

Legolas crouched by the edge of the mineral spring, running his hand through the warm water one last time. The spring was heated by a natural geyser, making the water perfect for an evening bathe. He smiled contentedly as he stood up, nimble fingers tying the intricate laces of his tunic.

A loud rustling and the unmistakable sound of heavy footsteps from his left caught his attention. Instinctively, Legolas slipped on his quiver, at the same time reaching for his bow and the small pack that lay beside him. In a matter of seconds he had leaped into the nearest tree, swiftly climbing up its branches. He perched himself amid the foliage as he watched the spring below. 

A few minutes passed and then a short figure appeared beneath him. Legolas smiled to himself as he recognized his old friend. 

The Dwarf surveyed the spring. “I know you’re here,” he called out at last. “A warm, evening bathe under the light of the full moon. A rare temptation that even you cannot resist.” 

Legolas’s smile grew wider. How well his friend knew him. Now if only he would go away and leave him in peace. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” the Dwarf continued, looking over the spring again. “I’ll sit here all night if I have to.” 

The Elf sighed inwardly. For a moment, he entertained the idea of holding the Dwarf to his word and slipping away through the treetops. Then he shook head. Gimli did not deserve that. He looked down at the spring once more. The Dwarf was settling himself upon a low rock, his back to Legolas, indeed preparing to wait out the night. He was muttering to himself in his own language and Legolas’s keen hearing could make out the general gist of his grumbling – something about Elves and their predilection for bathing, as well as their nonsensical allegiance to trees. 

Soundlessly, Legolas made his way down the tree, pausing when he reached the lowest branch. He gauged the distance between himself and the Dwarf, wishing to startle his friend but not exactly land on top of him. With catlike grace he jumped from the tree, landing immediately behind the Dwarf. 

“Preparing for a long night?” 

Gimli fell off his rock in surprise. Secretly, he was pleased at guessing the Prince’s whereabouts, but he hid his satisfaction behind a scowl as he turned to face the Elf. 

“Aye,” he retorted. “It has been a long day. I did not come to Ithilien to play hide and seek with you.”  
“I was not aware that we were playing,” the Elf replied, bemused. 

Gimli ignored the comment as he stood up, dusting himself off in the process. “Your people have been searching for you for five days now, Legolas.” 

“Is that so?” 

“Humph.” Gimli glowered at the Elf, who gazed back with a maddeningly serene expression. “A summons has arrived for you. No doubt you were expected in Aragorn’s court some time ago.” 

A brief emotion flickered in the Elf's eyes at the mention of Aragorn’s name, but it disappeared just as quickly. “I have other matters to attend to first,” he said, turning abruptly and heading into the woods. 

“Such as?” 

“Such as Ariella.” 

“Ariella?” the Dwarf repeated. 

“Yes, Ariella. I promised that I would sing to her tonight.” The Elf stopped and looked back at his friend. “Coming?” he asked, with a tilt of his head. 

Grumbling yet again, the Dwarf followed the Elf into the woods. Surely, a day’s march on the quest to destroy the One Ring had not felt this long. 

The two friends walked together in companionable silence. With the Dwarf following behind him Legolas made certain to shorten the length of his stride to better suit his friend. They traveled deeper into the woods, each lost in their own thoughts. Just as Gimli was beginning to wonder where this Ariella could be, the Elf stopped. Gimli stopped alongside him and glanced at Legolas. 

“I would like you to meet Ariella,” the Elf told him, holding out his hand in greeting. 

The Dwarf followed the direction of the Elf's hand and came face to face with . . . 

A tree. 

A magnificent tree, he had to admit, but a tree nonetheless. “You brought me out this way to meet a tree!” he exclaimed. 

“Ariella is not just any tree,” Legolas explained patiently. “She is the oldest, living tree in these parts, one of a few to survive the destruction of the War of the Ring. I nursed her back to health myself and she has become a great friend. I turn to her when I am troubled.” 

“And you are troubled now?” 

The Elf sighed. “Let us speak more after I have sung to her. Will you join me?” he asked, indicating the sweeping branches overhead. 

Gimli eyed them doubtfully. “I shall wait here until you are finished,” he decided. 

Legolas nodded and began his climb while the Dwarf sat and rested his back against Ariella’s broad trunk. Before long a haunting melody filled the air, weaving its way through the night and enveloping Gimli in its sadness. He sighed thoughtfully; such a song would melt even the hardest of hearts.

~*~*~*~

Legolas knelt on one knee as he studied the Dwarf before him. Gimli was sleeping soundly with his arms crossed and with his chin resting on his chest. His snoring, the Elf was pleased to note, was much quieter than when he heard it last. Indeed, it was almost tolerable. It would be a pity to wake him. Still, the Elf reached over with his left hand and gently shook the Dwarf’s shoulder.

“Come, my friend. You are tired. We had best head back so you may rest properly.” The Elf made to stand but was stopped by the Dwarf’s firm grasp. 

“I am not so tired that we cannot finish the conversation we almost started,” Gimli told him. He motioned for the Elf to sit down. 

One look at his friend’s stern face told Legolas that they would not be going anywhere until Gimli was satisfied. He elegantly crossed his legs as he sat down facing the Dwarf. 

“What is it you wish to speak of?” 

“Why are you avoiding this summons from Aragorn?” 

Legolas shook his head. The Dwarf was not known for his subtlety. He shrugged his shoulders uncharacteristically in response. 

“There was a time when the two of you were the closest of friends.” Gimli paused. “I had thought that perhaps your friendship ran even deeper.” 

“For a Dwarf, your eyesight is keen.” 

A silence fell between them and Gimli waited for the Elf to continue. 

“It is much harder than I ever imagined,” Legolas whispered. “To know that your love is returned, but that it never can be.” 

“Why then do you stay here, Legolas?” Gimli prodded. “Ithilien is but a stone's throw away.” 

“To be near him,” Legolas replied simply. “To know that I have the choice to go to Gondor, though I shall never take it. And besides, did I not promise to restore Ithilien to its former beauty, just as you vowed to return to the Glittering Caves?” 

“Aye,” the Dwarf agreed, “and in that respect we have both been true to our word. But what of the Sea?” 

“The longing is ever present, like a song at the back of my mind. Some days it sings louder than others, but it is not deafening yet. One day when I am ready, I shall heed its call and pass over the Sea. For now, I have too many attachments still and a promise to keep.” 

Gimli wondered at the Elf’s last remark, but said nothing. Another silence fell between them. 

“Will you accompany me to Minas Tirith?” 

“If I have to drag you there by your pretty little braids,” the Dwarf declared as he stood up, indicating that he was satisfied with the night’s talk. “At last I may get some rest.” 

“There are talans nearby, should the walk back be too much for you,” the Elf suggested, also rising to his feet. 

Gimli snorted in indignation. “I prefer the comforts of a warm bed,” he said, stalking off in what he hoped was the right direction. 

 

tbc


	2. The Meeting

The peaceful morning was interrupted by the sound of thundering hooves as a small group of riders galloped towards the White City. Three men, three elves and a lone dwarf rode along the city’s perimeter, towards the city’s outer gates. The guards on duty stood aside, saluting them as the company rode past. A cry of trumpets was heard, marking their arrival. A reply came from the distance, signaling that the city’s gates were being opened for them. 

The first rays of sunlight hit the turrets of Minas Tirith, reflecting their light over the plains. Legolas looked at the approaching city, the knot in his chest growing tighter. It was going to be a glorious day, yet the Elf felt as though he were riding to his doom. He turned to the man on his left. 

“Did the summons say why my presence is needed?” he asked. 

“No, Legolas,” Faramir replied. It was the third time that morning the Elf had asked that question. Although the Prince gave no sign of outward distress, clearly something was amiss. “The summons merely requested that I escort you to Minas Tirith personally.” 

“Ha! A good thing I decided to pay a visit to Ithilien,” the Dwarf spoke up from behind the Elf, “otherwise you may not have been able to accomplish even that!” 

Faramir laughed and even Legolas managed a small smile. “Let us ride on then,” the Man said, “for my duty is almost done.”

~*~*~*~

Aragorn paced the tower room where he preferred to meet personal guests, instead of the overly formal throne room he used for state affairs. He stopped by the arching window, spreading his hands against the sill. He had seen the party pass through the city’s gates moments ago. No doubt they had arrived at the courtyard by now. There was a strange feeling of anticipation he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Why was this?

Warm arms encircled his waist and a body pressed against his. “They are on their way up, my love.” 

Arwen led her husband to the table in the middle of the room where they both took a seat. Several minutes later the door opened and the Steward of Gondor walked in. Behind him came Gimli and both bowed before the King. 

“I have brought someone as you requested,” Faramir said, “thanks to the assistance of a certain dwarf,” he added with a sidelong glance. 

Aragorn rose to greet his friends just as Legolas appeared in the doorway. He drew in his breath at the sight of the Elf. It had been many years since they had been in such close proximity to one another, but he had crystallized the Elf’s face in his memory. Truly, Legolas was as beautiful as he remembered, perhaps even more so. Yet the King couldn’t help but feel that there was something different about him. As the Elf bowed and then drew up to meet his gaze, he understood what it was. It was pain. Aragorn’s heart ached with the knowledge that he was the cause of such suffering. 

“I am pleased that you have come,” he said, extending his hand. 

Legolas accepted it in a firm warrior’s handshake, much too formal for Aragorn’s liking. “I am sorry for the delay,” he replied. 

“Legolas, how wonderful it is to see you.” Arwen’s skirt brushed her husband’s leg as she walked past him to embrace the Elf. “Too seldom do my kin visit the White City and you most of all.” 

“Then I shall have to make amends.” 

Arwen’s dark eyes glinted mischievously. “Elessar has thought of the perfect way for you to do just that.” She smiled, turning to the others. “I shall leave you gentlemen now to attend to your affairs.” 

Faramir stepped aside to allow the Queen to pass, bowing once again as she did so. 

“Let us begin.” Aragorn moved back to the table. Faramir took the seat to his right while Legolas took the seat to his left, Gimli sitting on the other side of the Elf.

~*~*~*~

Legolas was only dimly aware of the conversation floating around him. Aragorn was inquiring how things fared in Ithilien. Faramir spoke of the exceptionally good harvest this year and how peaceful the border patrols had become. Legolas nodded his acquiescence every now and then when Faramir looked to him for confirmation. The discussion moved to the kingdom of Rohan and Gimli spoke proudly of the continuing work the Dwarves were doing in the Glittering Caves. All was peaceful there as well.

Legolas tried to concentrate as the talk continued. The walk up to the tower room had been sheer torture for him. It was as though his feet were turning into lead with every step he took. Now, sitting so near the man he had not seen in countless moons made his senses impossibly acute. Aragorn had been outside. The fresh scent of morning dew was still upon him, as was the faint scent of honeysuckle. He had taken a walk in the garden. Legolas could hear the slight scrape of his boot against the floor as Aragorn shifted position. Out of the corner of his eye, he observed the bristles on Aragorn’s chin. _Even though he is King, he still does not shave_ , he thought distractedly. 

“Legolas?” 

He looked up to see three faces gazing at him expectantly. 

“What do you think?” 

“It is a splendid idea,” he heard himself answer. 

Faramir nodded in agreement. “Three months is ample time to make preparations and spread the word. It shall be a magnificent celebration and no doubt the tournament will be graced by the finest warriors in the land.” 

“Then it is settled.” The discussion appeared to have drawn to a close. Legolas was still at a loss as to why he had been summoned, unless it had already been mentioned and he had completely missed it. His brow furrowed as he tried to replay the conversation in his mind. 

“By your leave, I shall return to Ithilien,” he heard Faramir say. “And what about you Gimli?” 

The Dwarf looked at his friend before replying. “I shall remain here for a few days, if only to ensure that this Elf doesn’t get lost in these fair halls. If you don’t mind, Aragorn,” he added. 

Aragorn laughed. “We would be glad to have you.” He stood up. Faramir and Gimli followed suit, the man letting the Dwarf go before him. Just as Legolas was about to follow them, he felt a hand on his shoulder. He stopped and turned around. “Will you walk with me? We still have other matters to discuss.” 

He looked into Aragorn’s eyes searchingly. Such deep sea-gray eyes. He could lose himself in their depths. 

“Yes, of course.”

~*~*~*~

Legolas was glad to be outdoors again. He lifted his face to the sun, enjoying its warmth as he walked. Beside him Aragorn walked silently. He could feel the man observing him and idly wondered what he thought. Legolas did not know where they were headed, nor did he particularly care. He was content for the moment to pretend that fate had not dealt him such a cruel hand, that it was simply a fine, clear day and he was strolling among the gardens of the White City with the man he loved.

“You look well.” 

The illusion was shattered. 

“As do you.” 

Aragorn appeared to be searching for something else to say and finally settled for, “What have you been doing these many years?” 

Legolas proceeded to recount the familiar goings on in Ithilien before Aragorn stopped him. “No, Legolas. I mean, what have you been doing?” 

The Elf tilted his head thoughtfully before answering. Aragorn could not help but admire how the sun caught the fine, golden locks as it cascaded down his friend’s shoulders. “I have kept myself occupied,” he said at last. “When all is calm in Ithilien, I enjoy traveling to other lands.” 

“With Gimli?” 

“Most of the time. He is a great source of strength for me, though I would be loath to admit it to him.” Aragorn smiled. It almost felt as though nothing had changed. 

“I journey to Greenwood more often now. Father has mellowed somewhat over the years and our relationship has improved significantly.” 

“That is good to hear.” 

“Yes, he is less wary now of the race of Men.” Legolas paused. “But he still dislikes the Dwarf.” 

“That would be putting it mildly.” 

Both of them laughed and a more comfortable silence followed. 

“Often have I visited Ithilien only to discover that you are never there to receive me.” 

“The timing has been unfortunate.” 

“Perhaps, but in all your travels not once have you journeyed to Gondor, even though we are your nearest neighbor.” 

“It is precisely for that reason I prefer to visit more distant lands.” 

Aragorn stopped suddenly and grasped the Elf’s arm, pulling him close. “I once had a friend,” he whispered into the tip of a pointed ear, “with whom I shared everything. I gave him my heart and he gave me his wisdom. I would draw my strength from him and he would kiss my uncertainty and troubles away. Do you know where he is for I have missed him terribly.” He drew away to look into the Elf’s eyes, but did not release Legolas from his grasp. 

Legolas gazed back impassively, his flawless face giving away none of the anguish he felt inside. “You speak of another lifetime, Aragorn. Why have you summoned me here?” 

A look of frustration crossed the King’s face. He was about to say something else, but thought better of it. Instead, he released the Elf’s arm and began walking again. Legolas easily fell into step beside him. 

“I have a favor to ask of you,” he said after a short while. “My son has developed a keen interest in archery. He is a competent archer now, but remains unsatisfied with our instructors here. His mother has told him that the greatest archers in Middle Earth are to be found among the Eldar, particularly among her kin in Greenwood the Great, and none more highly skilled than the youngest son of Thranduil himself.” 

Legolas listened attentively, his curiosity piqued. 

“I would be honored therefore,” Aragorn continued, “if you would instruct my son in the ways of your craft. He is a swift learner and will no doubt benefit immensely from your tutelage . . . as I once did.” 

The Elf remained silent. It was an intriguing proposition. He remembered summer days long gone spent in open fields, a time when Aragorn was still Estel and his heritage had not yet laid claim to his destiny. 

“Eldarion wishes to enter the archery competition of the upcoming commemorative celebration,” the King went on. “That would give you approximately three months to train him. What do you say?” 

This time the Elf turned to face him. He had never been able to refuse this Man. “I would be pleased to teach your son.” 

“Good.” 

The two stood facing each other and for the first time that morning, Legolas felt as though he were truly at peace. Without quite realizing what he was doing, Aragorn lifted his hand to gently stroke the golden mane. A lover’s caress. Legolas closed his eyes and leaned into the touch. “There was never a future for us,” the Man murmured sadly. 

“My head knows this Aragorn,” the Elf whispered, “but my heart cannot accept it.”

~*~*~*~

It was much later that afternoon as Prince Eldarion was returning from the stables, tired and streaked with grime from a hard day’s ride that he caught sight of a beautiful creature perched high upon a grassy knoll overlooking the city below. His long legs were drawn up to his chest and his arms were wrapped around them. A gentle breeze blew the free-flowing blond mane. Eldarion was entranced by the sight. As though the creature could sense he was being watched, he slowly turned his head and a secretive smile graced the corners of his lips. It was at that moment Eldarion knew that his heart was no longer his.

 

tbc


	3. The Kiss

It was the fifth morning of Eldarion’s archery lessons and already the young man had shown marked improvement. He was, as his father had said, a competent archer, but Legolas discerned nearly imperceptible flaws in the mortal’s technique. He knew Eldarion could be better. Much better. He would see to it that the youth made full use of his potential. 

However, the archer felt that the Prince’s mind was not entirely focused on the task at hand. There was something distracting him and until the Elf could find out what that was, his teaching would be hampered. Legolas pondered this as he drew another arrow and took aim. 

For his part, Eldarion watched the Elf transfixed. Never before had he seen such grace and fluidity wielded through bow and arrow. Legolas moved as though he were one with his bow, as though it were an extension of his very arm. He drew and fired with such a startling economy of movement, not once missing his mark. 

Eldarion found his eyes roaming the rest of the lithe figure before him. The Elf seemed so fragile, but he knew enormous strength belied the deceptively slender frame. His father had told him many a bedtime story involving the heroics of the Elven warrior. He had no doubt that the Elf had mastered many other arts aside from those of war. His eyes came to rest on the slim, long-fingered hands. There were more intimate skills those elegant hands had practiced. His gaze moved to the sensuous mouth. Such soft lips. He could almost feel his skin being caressed by tender kisses. _What would the Elf taste like?_ he wondered. _What kind of lover would Legolas be?_

“Eldarion?” 

The Man felt himself blush slightly at the sound of his name. He drove away the thoughts that filled his mind. Now was not the time. Legolas was waiting for him to take his turn. He picked up his bow and stepped up to the firing line. He drew an arrow, carefully adjusting the position of his arm as Legolas had taught him. He fired. Legolas watched silently as Eldarion released arrow after arrow into the air. 

When he was done, he turned towards the Elf expectantly. Legolas held his gaze and Eldarion found himself captivated once more. 

“That was better,” the Elf finally said, “but you are still dropping the position of your arm in consecutive shots. Here, let me show you.” 

Eldarion held his breath as Legolas moved behind him. Strong arms covered his own and the Elf’s hands began guiding his. Legolas’s instructions were lost on him; all he could hear was the drumbeat of his own heart. It was threatening to burst from his chest. Surely, the Elf could feel it. He concentrated on his breathing, allowing Legolas to guide him through the motions. 

Legolas could feel the young man’s body tense at his touch. It saddened him to think that the Prince was uncomfortable by his nearness. “That will be enough for today,” he said at last. “We will continue again tomorrow.” 

Eldarion felt the loss as the Elf stepped away. He watched as Legolas walked towards the targets to retrieve his arrows. 

A messenger approached the practice range and bowed respectfully before the Prince. “Your Highness,” he said, “your mother requests your presence in the main drawing room. The Duchess of Alden and the Lady Eleanor have paid a visit.” 

Eldarion nodded. “I shall join them presently.” 

The messenger bowed again and then left. Eldarion made his way to where Legolas stood and began removing his own arrows from the targets. 

“You have visitors?” 

The Prince looked at him surprised. He had forgotten how keen of hearing Elves were. “Yes,” he replied. “The Lady Eleanor and her mother have arrived.” 

“The Lady Eleanor,” Legolas inquired, “is someone special to you?” 

Eldarion found himself blushing again and studiously concentrated on the arrows before him. “She is from one of the noblest families in Gondor,” he explained. “Father thinks it would be a good match.” 

“But you do not agree.” 

“Lady Eleanor is a fine, gracious young woman. But I am not interested in her.” He hesitated. “I have lost my heart to someone else,” he said quietly.   
Legolas had finished collecting his arrows and stood facing the Prince. “Does your father know this?” 

“Oh, no! No!” the young man cried emphatically. “The one I love does not even know!” He clapped a hand over his mouth, wishing he had not spoken. 

“Ah, I see.” Legolas smiled understandingly. There was a tinge of sadness as he spoke, “To find true love is an elusive gift. I have known you but a little while, but already I can see you are a good person, with a pure and generous heart. Take the leap, Eldarion,” he encouraged. “Tell her what you feel. She would be foolish to reject what you offer.” 

Eldarion regarded the Elf in shock. He seemed to have lost his voice. If only Legolas knew what he asked, would he still feel the same? “I . . . ah . . . I . . . will you join us, Legolas?” he managed to say at last. 

The Elf shook his head. “Sadly, I cannot. Please send my apologies to your mother and your guests. Gimli is departing today and I must see him off.” 

“Oh, I had forgotten.” Eldarion could not hide his disappointment. “Please give him my best as well. Perhaps I shall see you later?” 

“Certainly.” Legolas was pleased. He was growing quite fond of the young man’s company. 

Together they walked to the main courtyard of the high tower where they parted ways. Eldarion watched the Prince’s departing figure for a moment before he turned inside. Preparing himself to meet his guests, he felt strangely calm. He had reached a decision. He would heed the Elf’s advice.

~*~*~*~

The Dwarf waited with his arms crossed at the far end of the courtyard. He had seen the Man and the Elf part ways and had not missed the mortal’s lingering glance. It was one of many the Dwarf had seen during the course of his stay. He shook his head. _Ah, my friend. What a tangled web you weave._

“You are late!” he bellowed, when the Elf was only a few paces away. 

Legolas stopped in front of him and drew himself up to his full height, hands on his hips as he towered over the Dwarf. “You should be grateful that I grace you with my presence at all.” 

Gimli scoffed. “How typical of an Elf to evade the subject at hand. Has spending too much time with Aragorn’s son slowed your wit?” 

“On the contrary,” Legolas replied, mellowing at the thought of Eldarion, “I find his company stimulating. Far more valuable than yours.” 

“Pray tell, in what way?” the Dwarf asked mockingly. 

The Elf swept his arm before him, indicating that they should make their way to the courtyard’s entrance where a messenger from Rohan awaited the Dwarf. “We share much in common, not just a love for archery.” 

“So, the young Prince loves trees too?” Gimli commented dryly, as they began to walk. 

“Eldarion has a love and appreciation for all life.” 

“The two of you appear to have become quite close in such a short period of time.” 

“I believe so. He confided in me today that he is in love.” 

“Oh? I would have thought that rather obvious.” 

The Elf cast him a strange glance but continued, “To complicate matters, the object of his affection does not even know.” 

“That much is clear to me.” 

“Since when do Dwarves speak in riddles?” 

“We have our moments. But tell me, Legolas,” Gimli said, stopping to get the Elf’s attention, “what did _you_ say to such a revelation?” 

“I told him love is a rare gift. He should pursue his interest and not let this opportunity pass.” 

At this the Dwarf burst out laughing. He laughed even harder when he saw the perplexed expression on his friend’s face. “Really, Legolas,” he said in between gasps for air, “for an Elf, you are remarkably blind.” 

“And too much time spent in dark caves has finally driven you to madness!” 

Gimli wiped a tear from his eye as they resumed walking. “Eldarion is in love,” he agreed. “He’s in love with YOU!” 

This time it was the Elf’s turn to stop. “You are mistaken,” he said, quite seriously. 

“I think not.” 

Legolas’s brow creased. He caught sight of the rider from Rohan who was speaking to an off-duty sentry. His magnificent horse pawed the ground restlessly beside him. It was eager to be off. The Elf could suddenly empathize. 

The two friends continued their walk in silence. Legolas was deep in thought. Was Eldarion really in love with him? There had been signs he’d refused to acknowledge. He had rationalized it as the young man’s inexperience, perhaps even slight awe. 

“To love a mortal is folly,” he said aloud. 

“Ah, but you are already guilty of that,” the Dwarf reminded him bluntly. 

The Elf did not reply. They had reached the courtyard entrance and the rider gave them a slight bow. He mounted his horse, bending to assist the Dwarf. When Gimli was seated comfortably he spoke again, “Do not be so quick to reject what he offers. Perchance it is the son who can heal the scars the father has left behind.” 

Legolas shook his head. “Gimli, when did you become so wise?” 

“Must be all the time I spend with Elves,” he replied, the faintest touch of sarcasm in his voice. Then he smiled to take the sting away from his words. “Come,” he said to the rider, with a tap on the man’s shoulder. “Let us be off!” 

With a nod of his head the rider obligingly spurred his horse on. Legolas lifted his hand in a salute, watching as his friend rode to the city gates.

~*~*~*~

The Elf was conspicuously absent from the midday meal. Eldarion would glance at Legolas’s empty place every so often, a fact that did not escape his father’s notice. The King himself was also wondering at the Elf’s absence. But he did not wonder long, as the Duchess and her daughter had decided to stay for lunch and he found himself playing the role of a charming host. Thankfully, Arwen was playing the role of a charming hostess even better.

As soon as the meal ended, Eldarion excused himself to escape outside. He preferred the outdoors, his Elvish blood instilling in him the desire for open space and the sounds of nature. His feet began treading a well-known path that led to the Queen’s private gardens, where he had spent many hours playing as a child. He caught a flash of blond as he entered and froze. 

Legolas. 

The Elf’s words of encouragement had haunted him the rest of the morning and throughout the noontime meal. Lady Eleanor had even commented chidingly on his unusual lack of attentiveness. It had served to make the Elf’s absence more palpable. Now, with the subject of his thoughts mere feet away, Eldarion summoned his courage and bridged the distance the between them. 

“Hello Eldarion,” the Elf greeted him without so much as turning around. 

The young Prince stood beside him, observing the Elf quietly as he gently caressed a rare flower. 

“Your company was missed during lunch.” 

Legolas turned to face him. “I am sorry,” he apologized. “I was preoccupied.” 

There was a moment of silence as Eldarion struggled to find the words to express his feelings. It was proving to be incredibly difficult. However, his thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a female voice calling his name. Recognizing it as the voice of Lady Eleanor, Eldarion panicked. Without thinking, he grabbed the Elf’s hand and pulled him deeper into the garden. 

If Legolas was surprised by the speed that the young man exhibited, he did not show it. But when Eldarion leaped into a rather large oak tree and began climbing it as though he were one of the Firstborn, the Elf could not contain his astonishment. 

“Quick!” Eldarion hissed from the branches high above, motioning for the Elf to join him. “Climb up before someone sees you!” 

Legolas found himself amused by the Prince’s unusual behavior and obligingly followed him up the tree. Eldarion was sitting on a broad branch. He moved over to allow the Elf to sit beside him. Legolas tested the strength of the branch before joining him. Together they sat and waited. 

Lady Eleanor’s voice drifted in their direction. “I thought I saw him here just a moment ago.” 

“There is no one here now,” another female voice replied. 

“King Elessar told me that he was heading for these gardens,” Lady Eleanor insisted. 

“He must have escaped another way,” a third voice answered lightheartedly. “Even my son cannot scale these walls.” 

The three women laughed as the Queen of Gondor led them back towards the main hall. She cast a meaningful glance at a certain oak tree at the back of the garden. Legolas caught the glance and smiled to himself. 

“Your mother is your ally in your little escapade,” he whispered. 

“She is my greatest champion,” Eldarion agreed. 

“Do you shirk you duty often?” the Elf teased. 

“I would hardly call this shirking my ‘duty’,” the Prince replied hotly. “I have been most courteous and amiable to our guests all morning. I just felt the need to step outside for a little while, for a measure of peace and – ” 

“Calm yourself, Eldarion,” Legolas said soothingly in Sindarin, placing a comforting hand on the man’s shoulder. “I was jesting,” he continued, switching to the Common Tongue. “Oftentimes in my youth have I been guilty of the same.” 

“Then we are brothers in that respect,” Eldarion answered using the Elf’s language. 

For the second time that day, Legolas found himself looking at Eldarion in slight wonder. “You are truly full of surprises today, young Prince,” the Elf told him. “Why did you not tell me that you knew the language of my people?” 

Eldarion shrugged. “The subject never arose,” he replied. “Mother and father both wanted me to learn Sindarin. They did not want me to lose touch with my Elvish heritage.” He paused. “Quenya was another matter.” 

Legolas laughed. It was a lovely, musical laugh that made Eldarion suddenly feel very tired. He would never be able to tell the Elven Prince his feelings. If only he could show him. But how? 

“We should go now,” he said. He had become aware of their closeness and wished to distance himself immediately. It hurt to be so near and yet so far, his words of love never reaching his lips. He stood up quickly and in his haste did not pay attention to his footing. His boot slipped and just as he feared he was going to fall, a strong arm pulled him to his feet and another wrapped around his waist to ensure his balance. 

Eldarion closed his eyes and let his senses wash over him. He was conscious of their intimacy, every inch of his body pressed against the fair Elf. He inhaled Legolas’s scent. It was intoxicating. Still the Elf did not release him. He did not know how many moments passed, but he feared that opening his eyes would make the wondrous dream fade away. The hand that held his arm had moved to join the other around his waist. Eldarion wished nothing more than to lay his head upon the Elf’s breast and stay in his warm embrace. Instead, he opened his eyes. Legolas was gazing at him with an intensity that stole his breath away. It felt as though the Elf were peering into his very soul. 

Legolas had been studying the young Prince in his arms. He had not noticed before how very beautiful Eldarion was. The man’s tanned, golden skin was a sharp contrast to his own. The youth radiated energy and life. Could he share in such promise? When at last Eldarion opened his eyes, he found himself captivated by their familiar sea-gray depths. _Estel._

He found he could think no longer as tender lips covered his own. Legolas welcomed the kiss without hesitation. He could feel the young man melt against him. Boldly, he opened his mouth and was rewarded when a warm tongue came out to meet his own. He gently coaxed it to enter and explore him. He was encouraged by the youth’s response and felt Eldarion’s hands travel up his back, pressing them more tightly together. When Eldarion’s tongue retreated, Legolas followed, taking the time to discover him in turn. It felt strangely familiar to Legolas, as though they were lost lovers rediscovering one another. 

When the kiss ended, Eldarion looked into the Elf’s eyes once more. The same desire burned there. There was no mistaking it. But before he could open his mouth to speak, the Elf pressed a finger to his lips and leaned forward to whisper in his ear. His voice caressed him like a seduction. 

“That was lovely, Eldarion,” he said, the words cascading softly in the soothing tones of Sindarin. “But it must never happen again.” 

Before the shock could register, the Elf had vanished and Eldarion was left standing amidst the branches of the giant oak. A gentle breeze blew and cut him to the bone. He leaned against the tree’s trunk for support as the weight of the Elf’s words became clear to him. Hot tears began to prick the back of eyes. He did not understand.

~*~*~*~

In the cool of the evening, the Queen of Gondor sat on her favorite marble bench in her garden. It had been an eventful day. She often came here to rest and collect her thoughts. She had much to think about. Foremost in her mind was her son. How could she help him?

As if on cue, Eldarion appeared. He sought his mother’s comfort and knew that she would be here. Wordlessly, he sat down beside her and rested his head on her shoulder. The Queen smiled, wrapping one arm around her son, drawing him closer. She reached over and took one of his hands in her own. They sat together in peaceful silence, listening to the night birds’ songs. 

“What troubles you, my son?” Arwen asked after a while, slipping into the language of her people. 

“My heart is troubled,” the Prince answered. 

“The Lady Eleanor does not return your affection?” 

“It is not her affection I seek.” 

Arwen phrased her next words carefully before speaking in the Common Tongue. 

“We do not choose who we love. Our hearts choose for us. You must give the one you love time for their heart to mend and when they are ready, your love will be returned.” 

“Time,” Eldarion repeated bitterly. “I only have so much.” 

“And Legolas has an infinite supply.” 

Eldarion sighed at the sound of the Elf’s name. He was not really surprised that his mother had known his heart’s desire. She had always been able to read him better than anyone else. At times, he thought she knew him better than he knew himself. 

“I do not understand him, Mother. He made me believe that he felt the same way. His kiss told me as much. Why does he close his heart to me?” 

“When you know the answer to that question, you shall understand the depth of his sorrow and how much he must overcome before he can return your love.” 

Eldarion remained silent. His mother’s words were a mystery to him, but it was a mystery that he would unravel. Yes, he decided. He would wait for the Elf. He would build and strengthen their friendship until Legolas would no longer look upon him as a pupil, but as a comrade, a companion, and perchance, in time, something more.

~*~*~*~

The days passed, turning into weeks and then months. All too soon it seemed that the grand celebration was upon them. Legolas found that he spent almost all his time in the Prince’s company. When they were not at the practice range, he would partake in the Prince’s daily duties as if they were his own. Being with Eldarion brought him peace. Oftentimes, they would commune with the trees or watch the stars at night. He taught the young man many Elvish songs and discovered that Eldarion had a fair voice that made a fine counterpoint to his own. Slowly but surely, Legolas was falling in love with the mortal prince. He recognized the signs. But whenever his feelings threatened to reach the surface, he smothered them. He would not make the same mistake twice.

 

tbc


	4. The Competition

For the past two weeks, parties and delegations had been arriving at the White City. All the major fiefs of Gondor were represented, the largest contingents coming from Ithilien and Dol Amroth. Arwen’s wish was fulfilled as large numbers of her kin had decided to partake in the festivities. A host of Elves came from Ithilien, happy to be reunited with their Prince. A surprisingly large party also arrived from Lórien, headed by the Golden Wood’s ever-faithful Guardian, Haldir. The Guardian had greeted Legolas with a kiss so intimate, both King Elessar and his son had watched in stunned silence. Indeed, many Elves were eager to see the fair Elven Prince, none more so than his elder brother and sister, Orothor and Onela, who had come from Greenwood on behalf of Thranduil. Among the parties from Lórien and Greenwood were some of the most talented Elves in song, dance and lore who had agreed to perform during the succeeding nights of the celebration. 

King Éomer of Rohan had also been one of the earliest to arrive. The Rohirrim looked forward to the jousting competition, which, with their unparalleled riding skill would be their greatest strength. However, they were no less eager to spar with the men of Gondor in the field of swordplay or any other aspect of man-to-man combat. The archery they were less keen on and with the number of Elves present, thought it best to leave it be. They insisted on attending to their own horses and did so religiously. No one was surprised, nor took offense at this, for all knew the consequences of one foolish enough to stand between a Rohirrim and his steed. 

Together with the Rohirrim came the Dwarves of the Glittering Caves. What a sight they made as they entered the White City; each rider carrying a most unhappy Dwarf. Since then the Dwarves had been patronizing the many taverns of Minas Tirith, pleasing their proprietors to no end. Although the ale flowed freely and the bars echoed with boisterous drinking songs, never did things get out of hand. 

During the day, Men, Elves and Dwarves worked together to prepare for the great celebration. It had been twenty-five years since the War of the Ring and peace had been brought to the land. It was fitting that the silver anniversary of the destruction of the One Ring should be celebrated as such. The celebration would take place over three days with different competitions being held during the day and the banquets and entertainment to take place at night. The first day was devoted entirely to archery; the second to one-on-one combat of different weapons including broad sword, long knife, mace and axe; and the third to jousting. 

An enormous pavilion had been constructed at the base of the city. It served as a meeting place for the participants of the various competitions, to receive instructions and to keep track of their progress as well as that of their fellow competitors. Airy and spacious, it had become a natural gathering place for all the races; where one could relax and have their fill of food and drink should they desire it. Numerous grandstands were also erected to accommodate the growing crowds of spectators. The archery range was carefully prepared and would easily be converted into a jousting arena for the third day of competition. For the combat contests, many smaller arenas had been constructed to allow multiple matches to take place at the same time. These areas quickly became popular with the crowds, as they were intimate enough to allow greater access to the competitors.

King Elessar oversaw all the proceedings in his city and was pleased with the co-operation and warm interaction he witnessed among the races. It was as it should be. He thought about all this as he escorted his wife to the royal grandstand, where they would watch the archery competition. The people rose as they approached, waiting respectfully for the King and Queen of Gondor to take their place before sitting down again. Aragorn scanned the royal stand searching for a certain fair-haired Prince. He soon found him talking animatedly with his sister. On his left was Gimli, who had a broad smile on his face as he listened to Legolas’s tale. The Elf was gesturing with his hands, no doubt recounting one of his more amusing teaching experiences with Eldarion. Gimli and Onela both laughed in appreciation. Just as Legolas finished his story, he glanced in Aragorn’s direction. The King held his gaze and for a few moments the two of them were locked in a battle of wills. Then Legolas’ eyes softened and he bowed his head slightly before returning his attention to his companions. 

Aragorn looked away, a familiar feeling of frustration coming over him. It had been three months since Legolas first came to Minas Tirith and nothing had been resolved between them. If anything, their forced proximity to one another had increased the tension in their already strained relationship. Although the Elf lived within the same walls, his room in the same wing as the royal bedchambers, Aragorn rarely saw him. Legolas was a ghost flitting in and out of his life, the memory of a friendship that once saw him through life’s vicissitudes all but a distant recollection. 

Though the King rebuked himself harshly, Aragorn could not help but feel the pangs of envy at the amount of time his son spent with the Elven Prince. The archery lessons were merely the beginning. Now, it seemed as though they were together every waking moment. They had taken to one another so quickly and so easily. Could Aragorn really have expected it to be any other way? His son was the mirror image of himself in both temperament and physique. As for Legolas, the King knew firsthand of the Prince’s bewitching charms. The possibility that their closeness had exceeded the bonds of friendship was a thought that crossed the King’s mind more often than he cared to admit, though neither had given any indication for him to believe so. 

About two weeks ago, Legolas had given Eldarion a magnificent bow and quiver that the Elf had finely handcrafted himself. The words “Strength and Courage” were inscribed in Elvish on the hilt of the bow and the quiver was made of the finest Elven material, making it light yet durable, with the seal of Gondor embroidered in its center. Eldarion had been understandably delighted, embracing Legolas warmly in thanks. Aragorn had watched the scene unfold with a mixture of emotions. While proud of his son’s accomplishments and believing the gift to be most fitting for the occasion, the bond between the two had become strikingly apparent to him. It made him realize how much he had sacrificed for his people and the good of Gondor. Could he ever truly know how great was his own personal loss? After twenty-five years, was he now starting to question his decision? 

Aragorn shook himself out of his musings. He was being selfish. He did not know what he wanted from the Elven Prince, nor what he could offer in return. The decision had been made long ago and he would have to live with it. He would not begrudge his son’s newfound friendship. 

And yet, however illogically, he still hoped.

~*~*~*~

The response to the archery competition had been overwhelming. There was a fair mixture of both Men and Elves with a total of 160 competitors in all. They had been divided into eight groups of twenty archers for the elimination rounds. Slowly but steadily, the numbers of the competitors diminished until there were only five archers left in each group. From there, three archers per group would move on to make up the final twenty-four competitors.

Eldarion stepped up to the firing line, waiting for the signal to be given. He drew his arrow and took aim. The herald blew his trumpet and five arrows were released into the air. Three of them hit the bull’s eye, Eldarion’s arrow among them. He would be one of the final twenty-four competitors along with the two remaining Elves from his grouping, Gwaidor of Greenwood and Hrethil of Lórien. Eldarion had paid particular attention to Gwaidor during the course of the morning. He was one of Greenwood’s finest archers, as well as being the Captain of the King’s Guard. He had gone on many a patrol with Thranduil’s youngest son and their roles had been reversed over the course of millennia. Where once Gwaidor had been the teacher and leader, Legolas had gradually matured into his role of Commander and Prince. Legolas held Gwaidor in the highest esteem, and in turn the Captain of the King’s Guard would gladly give his life for the young Prince. Eldarion played these thoughts in his mind as the final round began. He knew Gwaidor would be there until the very end. He only hoped that he would be as well. 

The last twenty-four competitors were composed of sixteen Elves and eight Men. As the targets grew farther in distance and the shooting ever more precise, Eldarion soon discovered that he was the only Man left in the field. The Prince was honest with himself at all times. He knew full well that the reason for his success thus far was just as much due to his exceptional eyesight, which far exceeded that of an ordinary man, as it was to his skill with bow and arrow. Still, he had a burning desire to win this competition, not so much to prove himself as one of the greatest archers in the land, but for Legolas. Although he knew the Elf would be proud of him regardless of whether or not he became champion, Eldarion did not feel that was enough. He wanted to leave no doubt in the Elf’s mind that he had absorbed every lesson and had valued every moment they had spent together. Just as Legolas had given him a bow and arrow as a symbol of the depth of their friendship, winning this tournament would be his gift to the Elf in return. 

Eldarion turned to look at the royal grandstand, hoping to get an encouraging smile from the fair Prince, but Legolas’s attention was directed elsewhere. Slightly curious, Eldarion followed the direction of the Elf’s gaze and discovered that Legolas was looking at his father. He would have not given this a second thought, except for the intensity that his father exhibited in return. The two seemed oblivious to their surroundings, wordlessly communicating with their eyes. Eldarion watched them, puzzled by their reaction. The Elven Prince’s usually infallible mask betrayed a strange expression that the young man could not quite place. He looked back and forth from Legolas to his father and found the same sad expression touched the King’s features. 

It was at that moment his mother’s words from months past suddenly became clear to him. _Why does he close his heart to me?_ he had asked her. _When you know the answer to that question, you shall understand the depth of his sorrow and how much he must overcome before he can return your love._

Eldarion quickly looked at the ground, his mind trying to comprehend this stunning realization. How could he have not seen this sooner? Was he really so blind? The pieces fit together. It explained why Legolas had never visited the White City before, although all told him that the Elf and his father were the fastest of friends. It also explained why Legolas conveniently, albeit skillfully avoided the King’s company whenever possible. He could not bear to be so near the one he loved. And as for his father! The King reciprocated the Elf’s feelings. That much was clear to him. How long had this been going on? Did his mother know? His mind was assaulted by questions that he could not hope to answer. Breathing was becoming difficult. The air appeared to have grown thin, as though he were on top of a high summit, instead of in the midst of an archery range. 

“Prince Eldarion?” 

He looked up to see Gwaidor standing in front of him. The ancient Elf looked utterly composed and Eldarion wondered why he had not been blessed with that most Elvish of traits. 

“It is your turn, my Lord.” The Elf gestured towards the firing line. 

“Thank you,” Eldarion replied, still disoriented. He found himself automatically looking in Legolas’s direction again. This time the Elf’s attention was directed solely at him, an expression of concern on his delicate features. Eldarion smiled weakly to reassure him. Legolas did not appear convinced but he smiled encouragingly in return. Eldarion stepped up to the firing line once more. His vision was clouded as he released his arrow and he knew that it was not his best shot. But it was, enough as the arrow of the remaining Lórien Elf had been slightly wider of the center of the bull’s eye than his own. He would now face Gwaidor for the mantel of tournament champion. 

“Your pupil seems distracted,” Gimli commented to Legolas as they watched Eldarion waiting for Gwaidor to take his next shot. 

“I agree. It is most unusual. I wonder what could be distressing him.” 

“A certain Elven Prince, perhaps?” 

Legolas glared at the Dwarf warningly, but did not justify the comment with his own remark. Instead, he turned his attention back to the range. Gwaidor had just released his arrow. It was a perfect shot, hitting the dead center of the red bull’s eye. Legolas knew Eldarion would be hard pressed to do something better, if that were at all possible. 

Eldarion had watched the shot, a feeling of resignation creeping over him. The target seemed impossibly far away; he could not recall ever having fired from such a distance before. The Prince took a moment to clear his mind. He closed his eyes. What would Legolas do? The Elven warrior would never surrender, even if the odds were heavily against him. Eldarion felt the same. He opened his eyes; clarity had returned to both his mind and his vision. Deliberately, he drew an arrow from his quiver and took aim. “Strength and courage,” he whispered to himself. For Legolas. 

In the hushed silence, all could hear the Prince’s arrow as it sang through the air until it hit its target. There was a surprised gasp. Gwaidor’s arrow had been split in two.

~*~*~*~

The Elf and the Dwarf walked through the bright pathways of the fair that had been set up not far from the Pavilion. Bustle and activity surrounded them. There were numerous food stalls, games, fortunetellers, puppeteers, street players and acrobats to keep the people occupied. Among this excitement the Elf and Dwarf went unnoticed. It was a far cry from a similar walk the two friends had taken through the streets of Minas Tirith for the first time, twenty-five years ago. At that time, the sight of the tall, regal Elf and his short, stocky companion had drawn many an amazed stare.

“You have done a fine job,” the Dwarf told his friend. “I confess I did not think it possible for young Eldarion to win the tournament. To go far in the competition? Yes. To make it to the final round? Quite possible. But to win?” The Dwarf shook his head. 

Legolas laughed. “You underestimated him then. Eldarion is an excellent student.” 

“Clearly.” The Dwarf thought for a moment, considering the best way to broach the subject he wished to discuss. “He has also become one of your closest friends, has he not?” 

“Without doubt. I cherish his friendship.” The Elf hesitated. “Though sometimes, I wonder if I see too much of his father in him. Then it is I who am not doing justice to our friendship.” 

“If that were true,” the Dwarf mused, “then it would also explain why you are yet to accept his offer.” 

“His offer?” 

“Do not play dumb, Legolas,” the Dwarf said, reprovingly. “It does not suit you.” 

The Elf smiled, but said nothing. 

“Eldarion is good for you,” the Dwarf went on, “it is you who are afraid to show your feelings. You are an Elf of contradictions,” he declared. “You are passionate about life, archery, music and poetry, but when it comes to matters of the heart, you hide behind your Elven mask of ice.” 

“You presume too much in thinking that I return the mortal’s feelings.” 

“Do you deny it?” the Dwarf challenged. 

“There was an incident three months ago,” the Elf began. “In fact, it happened the very day you left Minas Tirith and gave me such _sage_ advice. I decided then that I would not pursue a romantic relationship with Eldarion and would discourage him from doing the same. It is for the best.” 

“Bah,” the Dwarf scoffed. “Then you have been deceiving yourself.” Gimli stopped and crossed his arms defiantly. “Eldarion has waited long enough. You do love him! And you must tell him! Tonight!” 

Legolas looked at his friend in a mixture of surprise and amusement. “Really, Gimli,” he chided. “You are even more belligerent than usual today.” 

“It is your foolishness that makes me so,” the Dwarf retorted. “If there was anything I could do to make you confess your feelings to the youth, I would do it.” 

“Is that a promise?” 

“Yes,” the Dwarf answered immediately, missing the mischievous glint in the Elf’s eye. 

“Very well,” Legolas replied slowly. He surveyed the fair grounds until he found what he was looking for and then turned to face the Dwarf. “Come,” he told his friend. “There is _something_ you can do.” 

The Dwarf followed the Elf suspiciously. Whatever had he gotten himself into? 

Legolas led them to one of the most popular game stands, aptly named “The Wet Seat”. A contraption with a trapdoor had been built, suspended over a rather large wooden container of water. The hapless victim sat on the trapdoor, taunting the spectators to hit the bull’s eye to the right of the apparatus. Thus far, ten people had already been dunked that day. The Elf and the Dwarf arrived just in time to see the device at work. 

“If you sit in that seat,” the Elf told him, “I will tell Eldarion of my feelings towards him this very eve.” 

The Dwarf looked at him in disbelief. “You are joking,” he stated. 

“I am completely serious. I will do as you ask, if only you sit in that seat.” 

Gimli stomped his foot in consternation. Curse these fey creatures and their ultimatums! He glared at the machine, as if by doing so he could disintegrate it into ashes. With a fierce look over his shoulder at the Elf, who was doing a poor job of containing his mirth, Gimli stalked over to the blasted contraption. 

“You!” he bellowed somewhat rudely at the man in charge. “I shall be your next victim!” 

The man smiled broadly. “D’ye hear that ladies and gents?” he called to the crowd. “A willing volunteer!” 

The crowd laughed and cheered appreciatively as Gimli was helped onto the seat. He glowered at the Elf the entire time. 

“Who shall take a turn? Who shall take a turn?” the man asked the spectators. 

Legolas stepped forward. “I shall,” he said. 

Gimli’s glares had turned into daggers sharp enough to slice through the toughest orc hide. He vowed to himself that the Elf would pay for this humiliation. 

“Remember my friend,” Legolas called to the Dwarf as he accepted an orange from the attendant. “I am an Elf of my word.” 

Laughing blue eyes and sun-kissed golden hair were the last things Gimli saw before he was drenched to the bone. 

 

tbc


	5. The Banquet

The Crown Prince of Gondor walked briskly through the spacious hallways of the White Tower, nodding to those who bowed and curtseyed as he passed. Although he was already late for the feast, the Prince had only one thought on his mind, seeing Legolas. Since his victory earlier that day, he had seen very little of the Elf. Legolas had been one of the first to congratulate him, but they were quickly separated by royal duties and obligations. Eldarion suspected that Legolas had spent the rest of the afternoon with the Dwarf and had clearly gotten the upper hand when he saw a very wet Gimli cursing and sloshing in the hallways towards his chambers. He reminded himself to ask Legolas what had happened. 

Eldarion entered the banquet hall, motioning for the Herald not to announce his arrival. The Herald looked skeptical, but obeyed the Prince’s wish. Quickly, Eldarion made his way to the royal table. It was situated at the head of the hall, elevated by a dais. Only one seat was empty and Eldarion was happy to find that it happened to be next to a certain Elven Prince. He sat down, greeting those around him as he did so. On his right was Legolas and on the other side of the Elf was Gimli. On his left was the Lady Eleanor and opposite him sat Legolas’ elder brother, Orothor. Beside Orothor was their sister, Onela. 

“Prince Eldarion,” Onela said warmly, when he was settled. “I have yet to congratulate you on your victory today. That was truly a magnificent shot. Gwaidor himself did not think it possible.” 

“Thank you,” Eldarion replied graciously. “Though I assure you,” he added. “No one was more surprised than I.” 

Warm laughter followed the Prince’s remark. 

“Legolas has told us some rather amusing stories about your archery lessons,” Onela went on. “Surely you have your own version of events?” 

Eldarion shook his head. “I am loath to admit it, but I have no doubt that your brother’s version of events are most accurate.” 

More laughter followed. 

“What I am interested in,” Eldarion said, when the laughter subsided, “is learning more about your family. Legolas is most secretive about it.” 

“I have had that problem too,” Gimli commented. “Among other things.” 

Legolas groaned. “I can tell sitting in between the two of you shall prove to be a long evening.” 

“Come Eldarion,” Onela encouraged, “what is it you wish to know about our family and our younger brother in particular?” 

“Well,” Eldarion thought for a moment. “How many siblings do you have?” 

“There are four of us,” Onela answered. “Siuil is the eldest, followed by Orothor, myself and then Legolas. Sadly, Siuil could not attend this celebration.” 

Orothor nodded in agreement. “He is becoming more and more like Father with every passing century. Siuil is being groomed to take over Greenwood one day and I believe that he will make a fine King.” 

“Yes,” Legolas agreed. “Though I am hoping he will also be a more tolerant one.” 

“Father and Siuil do not share Legolas’s more open view regarding the other races of Middle Earth,” Orothor explained. 

“Particularly of Dwarves,” Gimli interjected. 

All three Elves smiled knowingly. 

“Onela and I have come to see the wisdom of our younger brother’s ways,” Orothor continued, “even when it comes to Dwarves.” 

“But despite their differences,” Onela added, “Legolas is still father’s favorite.” 

Legolas laughed. “It is a love/hate relationship, dear sister. We infuriate one another to no end, but somehow we manage to survive.” 

“It is your rebellious nature that endears you to him, Legolas,” Onela replied. “Legolas has always been eager to travel and explore the world,” she explained to the others at the table. “Mirkwood, as Greenwood was still called then, was too small for him. He would steal away from courtly duties to roam the woods and when he became old enough, eagerly joined the border patrols. If Gwaidor had not been such a vigilant Captain, I would have feared for my brother’s life.” 

Legolas laughed. “Gwaidor was the best teacher I could ever have hoped for. More often than not, I learned my lessons the hard way.” 

In that manner, the conversation continued throughout the feast and Eldarion found himself completely enchanted by the three Elves. Their charming personalities and quick wit kept their area of the royal table light and lively. It made the Prince even more curious to meet their eldest brother and father, who from what he gathered, were of vastly different dispositions from Orothor, Onela and Legolas. Perhaps Legolas would take him to Greenwood and the other Elven lands one day. He realized now that he still had much to learn about Elvish ways and customs and the disconcerting thought that not all Elves would welcome him as warmly as Legolas and his siblings crossed his mind. 

Throughout the meal Gimli had observed his lovesick charges carefully. He had to admit that they were more than discreet. Although he did not fancy himself a matchmaker, these two needed help. So, the Dwarf did his best to inject pointed double entendres whenever conversation allowed. Legolas caught onto his little game immediately and the Elf’s fey nature relished the challenge. What did the Dwarf expect him to do? Profess his love for the youth in the middle of dessert? The thought was enough to make him laugh. 

As the banquet drew to a close and the guests made their way to the adjacent ballroom to pass the rest of the evening in song and dance, Gimli saw this as his chance to make his move. As the three of them stood up, he accidentally “tripped,” his overfilled wine glass spilling its contents onto both Princes. 

“I am terribly sorry!” he exclaimed, though his laughing eyes belied his true intentions. 

Legolas arched an eyebrow in return and inclined his head slightly towards the Dwarf, conceding this particular round. 

“It is quite all right,” Eldarion responded, wringing the last drop of red wine from his velvet tunic, completely oblivious to the unspoken exchange going on between Elf and Dwarf. “I suppose we shall have to go in for a moment and change,” he said to Legolas. 

“Yes, I suppose we shall,” the Elf replied. “We will join you later,” he told the Dwarf. 

“You know where to find us,” Gimli said, a self-satisfied smirk on his face. He knew that the Prince was an ‘Elf of his word’ as Legolas had put it earlier that day, but sometimes he just needed a push in the right direction. He watched as the two figures left the banquet hall in need of a change of clothes. While not quite being drowned by water, for the moment, it would have to do.

~*~*~*~

The two Princes walked down the silent hallways to their separate chambers in order to change. Eldarion was relieved to be away from the celebration for at least a little while. There was so much he wished to discuss with Legolas and he had finally been given the opportunity. He could have sworn that the Dwarf had spilt wine on the two of them on purpose, though for what reason, he could not fathom. At any rate, he was glad that the “incident” had taken place.

They both changed quickly and were soon on their way to the main ballroom. Just as they were approaching the wide arching doorway, Eldarion held the Elf’s arm. Legolas turned to look at him questioningly. 

“I would rather not go in just yet,” Eldarion explained. “We’ve hardly spent any time together today. There is a balcony nearby. I thought we could get some fresh air and perhaps talk for a little while?” 

Legolas thought it was a wonderful suggestion and nodded his head. “I would like that,” he replied. He allowed himself to be led to the secluded balcony. Once there he immediately sat down on the stone railing. His left leg dangled over the railing’s edge, while he maintained his balance with his right. He propped his right arm on the knee of his right leg and took a deep breath of the cool night air. 

Eldarion went to stand beside the Elven Prince, somewhat concerned over the Elf’s relaxed posture while in such a precarious position. But he placed his worries aside. How often had he seen Legolas’s remarkable balance and agility for himself? 

“Legolas?” 

“Yes?” 

“Will you leave these lands one day?” 

The Elf looked at the young man in surprise. This was not the conversation he had in mind. “Do you speak of the sea-longing?” he asked. 

Eldarion had not really considered it. “Yes,” he said after a moment. “I suppose I do. The sea does call to you, does it not?” 

“At all times.” 

“How then do you resist its pull?” 

Legolas thought for a moment. “Through patience and meditation. Of course, I keep myself occupied. The sea-longing is a kind of sickness that can never be cured,” the Elf explained, “not until one passes over Sea.” 

Eldarion’s brow creased with worry. “Have Elves died from the longing?” 

“Yes. Those who are too attached to these lands and cannot bear to leave them are often driven to madness and perish. But do not worry for me,” Legolas said reassuringly, seeing the look of distress on the Prince’s face. “That shall not be my fate. Like most illnesses, it can be treated. When my time comes, I believe I shall build a ship and sail from the port of Dol Amroth as did the Lórien Elves of old.” 

“How will you know when your time has come?” 

“You are full of questions tonight,” the Elf remarked. 

“And you are skillfully avoiding the question.” 

Legolas laughed. “Gimli has taught you some of his tactics, I see. Very well.” He took one of Eldarion’s hands in his own, pulling the Prince closer to him. Although the Prince had opened a difficult subject, Legolas would see it to the end. “I made a promise to your father long ago that I would not leave these lands until he passed away. It is a promise I intend to keep.” 

Eldarion felt his heartbeat quicken. He knew that this was the right time. “It does not have to be that way, Legolas,” he said urgently, squeezing the Elf’s hand. “Your time in Arda need not be spent in sorrow, but in happiness and joy.” He placed the Elf’s hand over his heart and held it there. “I am not my father,” he said earnestly. “Open your heart to me, Legolas. I shall not break it, nor share it with anyone else.” 

Eldarion looked into the Elven Prince’s eyes for some sort of sign. He had laid his feelings bare and to suffer rejection now would surely break him. Legolas remained utterly still, not removing his hand from the Prince’s heart. He looked so much like a perfect, living statue of marble that Eldarion was at once aware of the immense difference in age between them. Time stood still as they looked at one another and Eldarion felt his hopes diminish. He had aspired for too great a love. He was but a Man, and not even that. He was half-Man and half-Elf; could either race fully accept him? Did he really expect a being so pure as Legolas to return such a tainted love? 

A cough behind the two Princes broke the spell. They both turned to look in its direction. A pretty, young servant girl stood uncomfortably at the balcony entrance. Her name is Barra, Eldarion recalled. 

She curtseyed before them. “Begging your pardon, my Lords,” she said timidly, “but Prince Eldarion’s presence is needed in the main ballroom.” 

“Duty calls once more,” Legolas said, his voice and expression light-hearted. Eldarion had not even felt the Elf disentangle his hand from the Prince’s grasp. It was as though nothing had passed between them. The Elf stood up elegantly. “You must go.” 

In the main ballroom, Eldarion stood with the King and Queen as the nobles of Gondor presented their very eligible daughters to the Crown Prince. Eldarion found the entire process tedious. He felt his mother place a supportive hand on his back as if to say, it shall not be much longer. 

The entire time he kept an eye on Legolas, who was mingling among the Greenwood and Lórien Elves. When the Guardian of Lórien approached Legolas, Eldarion could feel the jealousy rise in him. He had not forgotten the kiss that Haldir had bestowed on the Elven Prince at their first meeting. The two Elves greeted one another warmly and the evident intimacy between them was enough to drive the Prince insane. He gritted his teeth as another lady curtseyed before him. Haldir and Legolas remained in quiet conversation until he saw the Guardian place an arm around the Prince’s waist, leading them out of the ballroom. The jealousy quickly drained from Eldarion and he felt himself go weak. His knees threatened to buckle. 

Arwen recognized the change in her son and followed the direction of his gaze. She stroked his back sympathetically, whispering in Sindarin in his ear as she did so. 

“Do not be disheartened. Appearances are not always what they seem.”

~*~*~*~

Haldir lead Legolas outside and the two Elves made their way to the Queen’s gardens, enjoying the peace and stillness of the night. Once there, they sat down on a secluded marble bench under the branches of the swaying willow trees.

“My golden Prince,” Haldir said, as he stroked Legolas’s soft hair, which had turned flaxen in the pale moonlight. “I have missed you.” 

“And I you, my Guardian.” 

“I came to the White City to partake of these celebrations,” Haldir continued, “but most of all, I came to see you.” 

“You knew I would be here?” 

Haldir chuckled softly, his fingers caressing the Prince’s smooth cheek. “Word has spread quickly of your instructing King Elessar’s son in our craft. You have outdone yourself.” 

Legolas smiled at Haldir’s praise. “He is a remarkable student.” 

“Much like his father?” 

“At times, I fear too much so.” 

Haldir paused thoughtfully. “I have something to ask you,” he began. “Hear me first before you speak. You know what I have felt for you these many centuries and though I know you do not return my feelings, the time we have spent together and the moments we have shared have been enough for me.” 

“I do love you, Haldir,” Legolas protested. 

The Guardian held up a hand to silence him. “I do not deny that you love me in your own way,” he said. “But it is not the same.” 

The Prince remained silent, knowing Haldir spoke the truth. 

“Our people are leaving these lands, Legolas,” Haldir continued. “They have been for a long time. When this celebration ends, nearly all the remaining Elves of Lothlórien shall pass over Sea. Greenwood still flourishes for the sea-longing remains buried deep within the hearts of the wood Elves, but the Golden Wood has become a shadow of what it once was. That is why our numbers are so great here, for it our way of saying farewell.” He paused. “I shall be among those who sail to the Undying Lands and I wish for you to come with me, if you will.” 

Legolas had looked at the ground throughout Haldir’s speech. He knew what Haldir wanted of him before the words had ever left the Guardian’s lips, just as he knew what his answer would be. Sadly, he lifted his head and looked at Haldir with sorrowful eyes. “You know I cannot do that,” he said softly. 

The Guardian nodded in resignation. “I know,” he answered. “But I still had to ask.” 

The two Elves fell silent. Legolas felt the weight of Haldir’s sadness and wished that he could take it away. How many times had Haldir comforted him in the past? He had lost count over the millennia. There was a time, before the Prince had met Estel that he believed himself capable of returning Haldir’s love in the way the Guardian deserved. For who could not love the loyal, wise and kind Elven warrior? But it was not to be. Legolas reflected on how fickle fate was. Why was he not able to accept great love where it was offered freely and instead had set himself on a path where his love could never be returned? _I am not my father._ Eldarion’s words echoed in his mind. Was fate giving him a second chance? 

“Haldir,” Legolas said at last, “I wish you peace in the Undying Lands and I hope that you find someone more worthy of your love than I could ever be. For you deserve great happiness after so much hardship and toil.” 

"My golden Prince, there is no one else for me. But I do not regret any of it and I cherish every moment we have shared.” Haldir smiled. “It is King Elessar whom I pity, for it is he who has never known the wonders of your love.” 

“Forgive me, Haldir,” Legolas said, suddenly standing up. “There is something I must do.” He bent down and kissed the Guardian. “You shall always be close to my heart,” he whispered. 

“There is someone closer still. And it is not Elessar of whom I speak.” Haldir looked at the Prince knowingly and Legolas was at peace, for he knew that Haldir understood. “Go to him. For you too deserve great happiness.”

~*~*~*~

Eldarion had never been so happy to see Lady Eleanor in his life. When she approached him, he willingly went out to greet her, indicating to his father that he would like to spend the rest of the evening in her company. He had had enough of the courtly introductions. Lady Eleanor had naturally been delighted, albeit pleasantly surprised by the Prince’s reaction. They shared several dances on the ballroom floor, the Prince causing heads to turn with his choice of partner for the evening. There was a murmur of approval as the two swept around the ballroom. At the end of the third dance, Lady Eleanor suggested that they go to the gardens for some privacy, knowing how much the Prince enjoyed being there. Eldarion accepted her offer and led the way. He remained silent for most of the walk, allowing Lady Eleanor to carry the conversation, appropriately nodding or commenting when called to.

His thoughts continued to drift to Legolas and his foolish behavior earlier that evening. He did not know if he could bear facing the Elf again after blatantly professing his love despite Legolas’ wishes. Had he destroyed everything that he had worked so hard to build? Would Legolas forgive him? 

He glanced to his left at Lady Eleanor’s profile. She really was very lovely and was highly sought after among the Gondorian nobles, not only for her beauty, but also for her wit and intelligence. She would make a fine wife, Eldarion thought to himself. Perhaps in time he could grow to love her as she loved him. After all, were not marriages among the nobility merely facades for political alliances? Was that not the royal way? Had that been the way of his parents? His brow creased at the disturbing thought. Never before had he doubted his parents’ love for one another. His childhood had been perfect in his eyes. 

Without realizing it, the Prince had stopped walking. Lady Eleanor also failed to notice that he was no longer by her side and had continued without him. He glanced up to see that she was already a few yards away. Eldarion cursed himself for his rudeness and was about to catch up with her when he was suddenly pulled to the side, behind the wall of one of the tower buildings. He struggled instinctively, but a smooth hand covered his mouth, preventing him from calling out, while another bound his arms tightly behind him. Eldarion’s fear quickly subsided as a familiar scent surrounded him. He stopped moving and remained passive in his assailant’s embrace. The hand fell away from his mouth and still he made no sound. His arms were released, allowing him to slowly turn around until he was face to face with Legolas. 

The Elf was radiant. The pale moonlight caught his fine hair, giving him an ethereal appearance. Eldarion was awed by his beauty. Lady Eleanor could not compare. He wished to speak, but no words would come. Sensing this, Legolas shook his head and placed a finger to Eldarion’s lips. No words were necessary. Then he removed his finger and kissed him. It was a tender kiss, full of promise. Another secretive smile was on his face as he took the Prince’s hand and quietly led him away. 

Eldarion hardly knew what was happening as he followed the Elf, nor did he care. Too much thought was inadvisable, since none of this made any sense. He gripped the Elf’s hand tightly, afraid that Legolas would disappear. Legolas looked back at him quickly, the same fey smile still on his face. Eldarion’s heart leaped to be blessed with such a smile. The Elf led them by another path to the Queen’s gardens. The Prince hesitated, pulling gently on Legolas’s hand. 

“Lady Eleanor,” he said softly. 

“Will not find us,” the Elf whispered in return. 

Eldarion relaxed, trusting Legolas completely. They made their way through the gardens, passing unseen through its darkest shadows. The Prince’s curiosity was starting to get the better of him. Surely, he knew these gardens better than Legolas, yet he did not have the faintest idea where the Elf could be taking him. They slowed down and stopped in front of a thick, dark curtain of hanging ivy vines. Eldarion looked at the Elf, raising a questioning eyebrow. Legolas merely smiled and parted the vines, stepping through as he did so. Eldarion paused and looked around him. The garden was perfectly still. Hesitantly, he parted the vines and followed the Elf. 

What greeted him was a magical sight. Legolas had discovered a hidden dell that the Prince did not even know existed. It was at the northernmost corner of the garden, bordered by two ivy-covered walls. A similar curtain of ivy concealed the rest of the dell, while the sloping branches of a willow tree provided a canopy that the moonlight shone through. The Elf stood in the middle of the dell bathed in moonlight. His feet were bare and Eldarion noticed for the first time that the garden floor had been covered by soft blankets, with pillows spread about the Elf’s feet. Eldarion was touched by the gesture. Legolas held out a hand to him and he accepted it, slipping his own boots off before stepping onto the blankets. 

They stood facing one another again. Eldarion closed his eyes as the Elf began brushing the hair away from his face. Legolas kissed him on one brow and then the other, finally trailing soft kisses down his cheek. Eldarion shivered. It was just as he had dreamed. When their lips met again, there was no hesitancy. He reached for the laces on the Elf’s tunic; he could feel Legolas doing the same. Carefully they undressed each other. Eldarion took the time to soak in the Elf’s beauty. Legolas’ skin was softer than any maiden he had lain with. He ran a hand across the Elf’s firm chest, mapping it with his fingers, moving lower to the flat plane of the Elf’s stomach. 

Soon he found himself on his knees, his fingers brushing the edges of the curls on the Elf’s groin. Even the hair here was soft to touch. Experimentally, he reached out and ran a finger from the base to the tip of the Elf’s shaft. He glanced up to see the reaction on Legolas’ face. The Elf was glowing with pleasure. A white bead appeared on the tip of the shaft and Eldarion licked it. Sweet. Like honey. He had never done this before, but it did not seem to matter. Without warning, he took the Elf’s entire length in his mouth. 

Legolas gasped, his hips jerking forward involuntarily. His left hand fell on the young man’s shoulder. Eldarion was proving to be very skilled with his mouth, his tongue running teasingly along the shaft and then stopping to draw lazy circles on the tip. The well-placed, gentle scrape of teeth caused delicious friction. The Elf’s grip grew harder as Eldarion increased his suction. Legolas knew that he would reach his peak soon. With great effort, he pulled himself away from the Prince’s inviting mouth. The young man looked up at him, an expression of confusion and worry on his face. Legolas cupped his chin reassuringly. 

“I wish to spend myself another way,” the Elf explained. 

Eldarion’s eyes grew wide as he understood. He lay back on the blankets, his head resting on a pillow. Legolas settled himself between the Prince’s spread legs, admiring the strong body in front of him. Eldarion grew self-conscious under the Elf’s gaze, his neglected erection throbbing painfully. Noticing this, Legolas draped the Prince’s body with his own, purposely rubbing their members together as he did so. Eldarion shifted underneath him, desiring greater contact. 

The Elf smiled at the youth’s eagerness. He mated their mouths once more, reaching for a vial of oil at the base of the willow tree. He coated his hand liberally and then ran it down the youth’s side, playfully tweaking a peaked nipple as he did so. Suddenly, he pinched it quite hard. Eldarion yelped in surprise, frowning at the Elf’s teasing. His body was already so tightly strung; he did not know how much more he could take. Legolas followed the pinch with his warm mouth, massaging the sensitive nipple with his tongue. Eldarion moaned and arched his back in return. Legolas’ hand continued its journey down the man’s side, coming to rest on the aching member. 

“Have you been with another male before?” the Elf asked, as he set to stroking the member. 

“No,” Eldarion replied, somewhat embarrassed. Thought was becoming difficult under the Elf’s ministrations, but he managed to hold Legolas’ chin under his hand. “And I shall never be with another,” he said solemnly. 

Legolas was moved by the love he saw in Eldarion’s eyes. His hand traveled deeper, until his fingers grazed the tight entrance. Eldarion tensed instantly, unused to such an invasion. The Elf was not deterred, slipping a finger in carefully. “I shall make this good for you,” he promised, curving his finger upwards ever so slightly. 

Eldarion gasped as the Elf’s finger brushed his sensitive gland. He did think such pleasure was possible. Legolas slipped in another finger, followed by another, taking the time to prepare his lover. Eldarion writhed underneath him, his breathing becoming erratic. He felt the Elf could undo him with his fingers alone. “Legolas, please,” he begged. “I cannot take much more.” 

“Soon,” the Elf replied. He sat back looking for the vial of oil, only to discover that it was with Eldarion, who was coating his hands with the lubricant. The man sat up as well and began stroking the Elf’s shaft with his oil-slicked hands. Legolas sighed contentedly. 

When Eldarion was done, they resumed their former positions. Legolas lifted the Prince’s right leg over his shoulder in order to gain better access to the man’s tight opening. He wished to ease the pain as much as possible. The tension had returned to Eldarion and the Elf could feel the implicit trust and apprehension emanating from him. 

“The pain will go away,” Legolas assured him. 

Eldarion nodded, willing himself to relax. Holding the Prince’s thigh, Legolas eased himself inside. Despite his preparation, the tight entrance did not give easily. Eldarion looked away as the Elf filled him, gripping the blankets tightly. It will get better, he told himself and concentrated on his breathing. 

When Legolas was fully sheathed, he stilled, giving the Prince time to get used to him. He kissed the beads of sweat that had broken on the man’s brow, while sliding the youth’s leg from his shoulder. The Elf’s hand wormed its way on the inside of Eldarion’s thigh, until it reached the man’s swollen length and began stroking it again. Eldarion lost himself in the sensations and the muscles around Legolas’ member began to relax. He turned to look at the Elf, eyes half-lidded with pleasure. 

“I am ready,” he said softly. 

Legolas needed no further encouragement, the impossible heat surrounding him testing the limits of his control. He began to move, not stopping his actions on the young man’s shaft. He set a slow pace, until he felt Eldarion respond to him and together they moved as one. He angled his thrusts carefully, ensuring that he hit the sensitive gland with each motion. 

The Elf’s hand on his member coupled with his thrusts was sending Eldarion over the edge. He could feel his orgasm building within him and he pulled Legolas closer, gripping the Elf’s shoulders tightly, his nails marking the Elf’s flawless skin. With a great shout he came, his seed spilling warmly between their bodies. Legolas came soon afterward, his own Elvish cry of pleasure filling the air. 

The Elf lay on his back beside the Prince, his breathing returning to normal. Eldarion remained motionless. The young man was completely spent. He had never had an orgasm so intense. This is what it is like to be with the one you love, he thought, through his haze of contentment. 

After a while Legolas turned on his side to look at his lover, propping his head on his hand. 

“Are you all right?” he asked. 

Eldarion nodded. “This is bliss,” he replied. 

The Elf laughed, kissing the Prince’s forehead. Eldarion responded by moving into the Elf’s embrace. He never wanted to be separated from Legolas again. He could feel the Elf cleaning him with a soft cloth and he smiled. Legolas thought of everything. 

“I love you,” he murmured, just before sleep overcame him. 

The Elf pulled the blankets over their warm bodies, holding the sleeping Prince close. He watched the stars peeking through the willow branches. The sea-longing seemed to have stilled for the barest of moments. The Elven Prince knew that he had found his most important reason to stay. 

 

tbc


	6. The Discovery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The explanations given for Elven erogenous zones and the properties of the witchroot have no basis in Tolkien mythology and are entirely my creation.

Eldarion shifted from one foot to the other, waiting impatiently for the Elven Prince. _Where is that Elf?_ he thought to himself. Surely Legolas would not miss his own sister’s performance. He looked at Onela, who was waiting with a group of Greenwood Elves at the center of the concert hall and shrugged his shoulders helplessly. Onela smiled understandingly and spoke quietly to the Elves around her. They moved to take their places. It would not do to keep the audience waiting any longer. They would have to begin without Legolas. 

The Prince remained where he was at one of the entrances to the circular concert hall. The hall had originally been one of the citadels of the White City, which had been destroyed long before the dawn of the Third Age. When his father had reunited the realms of Gondor and Arnor, he saw to it that the citadel was rebuilt. However, it was no longer needed as a fortress or line of defense for the White City and so it had been converted into a school dedicated solely to the arts. With its sweeping archways and carefully carved ceilings, it was ideal for musical and theatrical performances, carrying acoustics beautifully. 

Eldarion stood beside the door’s curtained arch. He knew that he should take his place, but decided to wait for the Elven Prince. Onela smiled at him again as her slender fingers began to pluck the strings of her golden harp and soon its music filled the hall. King Elessar did not miss the secret exchange between his son and the daughter of Thranduil and he raised a questioning eyebrow at his wife. Arwen merely smiled. Elessar had discovered earlier that day that his son had mysteriously ‘disappeared’ while in the company of Lady Eleanor the previous evening. She had been most put out and had to be placated by the Queen of Gondor herself. The King had yet to find out the reason behind his son’s disappearance, but suspected that it had something to do with a flaxen haired Elven Princess, who happened to playing at that very moment. Trusted sources had informed the King that the two of them had been virtually inseparable all day. This was an interesting development, indeed. 

While it was true that the Crown Prince of Gondor and the Elven Princess of Greenwood had spent the majority of the day together, their topic of conversation had often been the Princess’s errant younger brother. That morning, Legolas had woken Eldarion just before the break of dawn and they had returned to the White Tower, passing through the service area to dispose of their used blankets and pillows. Barra had already been up and about and she blushed furiously as the two Princes passed her hand in hand. Legolas had sealed a finger to his lips as he looked at her and she nodded shyly. She thought the two Princes to be the finest gentlemen at the celebration and was proud to be their accomplice. 

They saw one another a few hours later at breakfast and Eldarion could feel a distinct change in their relationship. At first he thought he was imagining it, but the discreet brushes of hand and leg told him that it was not so. He caught himself openly staring at Legolas several times, forcing the Elf to lean over and whisper in his ear, “We shall have to work on your discretion.” Eldarion had blushed, concentrating on buttering the bread in front of him. He did not miss the fact that Legolas left his hand on the Prince’s leg and Eldarion was comforted by the gesture. Soon after breakfast Legolas had been caught up in the affairs of the Ithilien and Greenwood Elves, leaving his lover in the capable hands of his sister. 

Eldarion enjoyed Onela’s company immensely and found her to be a marvelous substitute for her absent brother. He was most impressed with her diplomatic skill, proving herself indeed to be the daughter of Thranduil. Throughout the morning, Lady Eleanor had regarded him coolly, still upset about the night before. Onela had come to his aid by saying to Orothor, “Our young friend needs assistance,” inclining her head in Lady Eleanor’s direction. “After all, royalty should look after each other, don’t you think?” 

Orothor had appeared bemused, but had replied, “But, of course.” He then turned to Eldarion. “I have been in similar situations too often to count, as has Legolas. I shall appease your would-be bride if you see to it that my sister does not get herself into too much trouble today.” 

Eldarion smiled broadly. “That is more than a fair trade.” 

“You may not think so later,” Orothor warned with laughing eyes. 

“Off with you!” Onela had cried, playfully punching her brother in the arm. 

Orothor danced away, expecting such a reaction. He bowed to them once he was at a safe distance, mocking the formal royal bow often presented to him in Thranduil’s court. With an elegant sweep of his arm, he rose and went to attend to Lady Eleanor, whom he had found rather charming at the banquet the night before. 

Eldarion soon discovered what Orothor had meant about his sister. Onela was playful and adventurous. She wished to see all that the celebration had to offer and did not limit her socializing to the royal stands. She enjoyed walking and being among the people, as well as cheering the competitors on at the combat arenas. Her energy was boundless and Eldarion found himself hard pressed to keep up with her. 

The Prince would never forget the conversation they had while watching a puppet show at the fairgrounds. They had been discussing the differences in disposition between Men and Elves when Onela had suddenly remarked, “Of course, sexually we are not so different, although there are specific erogenous zones we possess that you do not.” 

Eldarion had choked on the apple he was eating. He was positively shocked by her directness. She spoke so conversationally, as if they were discussing hair or eye color and not Elven erogenous zones. 

“Do you know where they are?” she asked. 

“Ah . . . no,” he replied, all eloquent thought fleeing from his mind. He could hardly believe he was continuing this thread of conversation, although he could not deny that she had piqued his curiosity. 

“Well, our ears are very sensitive,” she explained. “Particularly the point. So is the back of our spine and the shallow point at the base of our neck where our bones meet.” She paused for a moment, a wicked smile on her face. “I thought this information might come in useful with your lover.” 

By now Eldarion could feel himself blushing to his ears. “My lover?” he repeated, certain he would die from the embarrassment. 

Onela turned to face him, all playfulness gone from her face. Thus far, Eldarion had found her to be good-natured and unassuming, but now he was distinctly aware of the royal presence she brought to bear and the immense wisdom and age in her piercing blue eyes. 

“I like you, Prince of Gondor,” she told him. “I like you very much. You are good for my brother and I know that you will treat him as he deserves.” 

Eldarion was humbled by her words. Her approval meant the world to him, although he could not help wondering how she could possibly know. 

“I am his sister,” she said, as if reading his thoughts. “I know such things.” 

“Do others know?” 

“I wouldn’t think so,” she answered. “Legolas has always been discreet in these matters. You could take some lessons from him,” she added with a smile. 

Eldarion blushed again. All of a sudden he felt like a mere child around her. 

“Gimli, of course, has been encouraging it,” Onela continued, “and I believe that Haldir may suspect, which would not surprise me, for he has been close to my brother for centuries, but I cannot be certain. Aside from those two . . .” the Princess trailed off with a shake of her head. “Orothor does not have any idea and I shall leave it to Legolas if and when he wishes to tell him.” 

Eldarion had nodded, absorbing all this information thoughtfully. He was grateful to have such a powerful ally. He watched Onela now as she began to sing and he smiled. Truly the Elves were gifted with song. 

A featherlike touch ran up his spine and he shivered. Apparently, Elves were not the only beings to find this part of the body sensual. 

“Have you missed me?” a seductive voice whispered in his ear. 

The Prince feigned indifference. “Not at all,” he replied nonchalantly. 

There was a low chuckle behind him. “We shall see about that.” 

A hand settled on his waist, guiding him closer to the curtained door until the lower half of his body was covered by the curtain’s folds. It then made its way further down, deftly undoing the laces on the Prince’s breeches. The Elf can’t possibly be serious, his mind told him, but the hand that slipped inside his pants confirmed otherwise. Eldarion had to choke back a moan as the Elf skillfully coaxed him to full hardness. 

“Have you missed me now?” the Elf asked again, not pausing in his actions. 

“No,” came the strangled reply. The Prince’s breathing had grown ragged and a hand flew out to grab the curtain by his side. 

“Careful you don’t destroy the curtain,” the Elf teased. 

The Prince closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on Onela’s beautiful voice. 

“Open your eyes,” Legolas whispered, giving the Prince’s shaft a slightly harder pull. 

Eldarion obeyed instantly, his body on fire. 

“Have you missed me now?” came the question again. 

“No,” was the same reply, although it was softer and weaker. The Prince could feel his resolve breaking. Just as he was reaching his peak, the Elf stopped. A low cry of anguish escaped him. Those sitting nearest to the door turned their heads in his direction. Eldarion nodded to them, his grip on the curtain threatening to pull it from its foundation. 

“You are a tease!” he hissed under his breath. 

The Elf was now leaning against the wall by the door with his arms crossed, watching his lover with laughing eyes. 

“Do you miss me now?” 

Eldarion gritted his teeth. His regal bearing refused to let him answer, though his cock wept for completion. Amused by the Prince’s stubbornness, Legolas reached out and pulled him into the shadows, away from prying eyes. He resumed his former actions, while nibbling on the man’s jaw. 

“Do you miss me now?” 

The Prince found himself thrusting into the Elf’s talented hand, the fear that someone would walk out and discover them heightening his anxiety. “Yes,” he choked. 

Legolas captured his mouth in a searing kiss, finally granting the Prince his release. Eldarion cried his orgasm into the Elf’s inviting mouth, their kiss muffling any sound. He collapsed against the Elf, exhausted. Legolas held him as his breathing slowed and logical thought returned to him. 

“You are a wicked Elf,” Eldarion said at last, keeping his eye on the open doorway and the light that poured through. He could practically feel the Elf’s lips curve into a smile above him. 

“Then you shall have to punish me later.” 

Eldarion lifted his head to look at his lover. “I shall indeed.” 

The Elf smiled, pulling out a cloth that he used to clean his hand. “I will go in and take my place at the end of this piece,” he said. “Wait a few moments before following me.” 

Eldarion nodded, retying the laces on his breeches. He stopped the Elf as he was about to move, giving him a gentle kiss. “I _will_ punish you later,” he said softly. 

“I look forward to it,” the Elf replied, before disappearing through the doorway.

~*~*~*~

The dining arrangements for the second night of the celebration were of a far less formal nature than the previous evening’s grand banquet. Not wishing to discomfort their guests by making them trek back to the main halls of the White Tower, dinner had been laid out under the stars in the spacious lawns of the citadel, which once upon a time would have served as a final battleground for the war fortress. The socializing was also less restrained, with guests moving freely from one table to another.

The Elves continued their musical performance under the glittering sky, the sight of the stars and the fresh night air inspiring them to ever-greater song and dance. As the night wore on, they began to receive fierce competition from the Dwarves, whose raucous drinking songs threatened to wake the dead. It was a sign of the times when the Ithilien Elves took up the challenge and began a round robin of song and drink with the Dwarves. Some Greenwood Elves soon joined their kin as Orothor did not seem to mind, indeed spurring on his fellow Elves to ‘win’ the competition. 

Haldir watched these goings-on and shook his head, whispering in Legolas’s ear as he did so. The Elven Prince laughed in return, slipping his arm through Haldir’s and giving the Guardian’s arm a comforting pat. The Lórien Elves were still the most traditional in mind and custom and such a sight appeared scandalous to them. Haldir knew that his beloved had played an instrumental role in changing the mindset of his people, as could best be seen among the Ithilien Elves. While he believed it was for the best, it reaffirmed his belief that he no longer belonged here. The Lórien Elves were fading. He looked at Legolas’s profile and could not remember ever seeing such joy in the Prince before. He knew Legolas’s time had not yet come. 

Onela approached them and was greeted warmly by her brother and the Guardian. 

“Your performance tonight was exquisite as always, dear sister,” Legolas told her. 

“Apparently not exquisite enough for you to arrive on time,” she playfully scolded. 

“Ah, yes,” Legolas said sheepishly. “I have no excuse for my tardiness. I am truly sorry.” 

“Apology accepted.” She looked in Eldarion’s direction. The Prince was sitting at a table with Gimli and numerous glasses of ale were stacked between them. “I think we should attend to our young friend,” she advised her brother. “He is on the losing end of a drinking match with Gimli and his tongue may become too loose for your liking.” Onela arched a golden eyebrow to emphasize her point and her brother understood. 

“Excuse me, Haldir,” Legolas said politely, disentangling his arm. “My sister is right. Eldarion is in need of some . . . assistance.” 

“Of course,” the Guardian replied graciously. He and Onela exchanged knowing glances before she led her brother away. 

“Well, well,” Legolas said, when he and Onela reached the Dwarf’s table. “What have we here?” he asked, with a pointed look in Gimli’s direction. 

“What does it look like?” Gimli replied, shooting the same pointed look back at the Elf. 

“It looks like a dear friend of mine is using his high alcohol tolerance to take advantage of a young Prince.” 

“Nonsense!” the Dwarf exclaimed in mock surprise. “Why, it was young Eldarion here who suggested that we have a drink-off. How could I possibly refuse the future King of Gondor?” 

“Politely,” the Elf replied. “Though I forget that word is not in your vocabulary.” 

“At the very least,” Onela interjected, “you could have warned Eldarion of your drinking prowess.” 

The Dwarf groaned. “The Elves are turning on me,” he said to the mortal Prince. “Come, Eldarion. Do you feel I have taken advantage of you during our competition?” 

“No, no,” the Prince replied, vigorously shaking his head. “Not at all. But I don’t understand.” He looked at Legolas, a perplexed expression on his face. “Where does it all go? He is half my size.” 

The Elves and the Dwarf laughed. 

“All right,” Legolas said, moving to help Eldarion to his feet. “You have had enough for one night.” 

“I can do a few more rounds,” the Prince protested. 

“I have no doubt. But there are other, more enjoyable things you could be doing instead.” 

Eldarion’s demeanor changed instantly and he nodded seriously. “I see your point.” 

“Well, well,” Gimli said, mocking the Elf’s earlier tone, “who is taking advantage of our young Prince now?” 

Legolas shot him a warning glare, which the Dwarf merely returned with an expression of serenity worthy of an Elf. 

Onela smiled at their silent antics; Eldarion was too inebriated to notice. 

“It is a fair walk to the White Tower,” she told her brother. “Perhaps you need some help in bringing our young friend there?” 

“Oh, no. No,” Eldarion protested. “I can walk perfectly fine.” He took an unsteady step forward, immediately swaying into Legolas’s arms again. 

“Obviously,” Legolas replied, amused. 

“Here,” Onela said, taking one of Eldarion’s arms and moving on his other side to support him. “I shall help you.” 

Eldarion was appalled. “It’s quite all right,” he said quickly. “I can’t let you help me in this way. It’s not proper!” 

Onela just laughed. “Lack of propriety is one of my endearing faults. Or so mother keeps telling me,” she said, with a quick grin at her brother. “This is the practical solution, Eldarion. Now let me help you.” 

Eldarion looked at Legolas helplessly and the Elf nodded. With great reluctance he accepted Onela’s proffered arm and the three of them made their way out of the spacious lawns. The Dwarf watched them with an overly satisfied smile on his face. 

The King of Gondor also watched his son depart in the company of the two Elves and turned to his wife with a pleased smile. “It appears our son is following in the footsteps of his father,” he told her in an approving tone. 

“Yes,” Arwen replied. “He is following in your footsteps, but he is walking a different path.” 

Aragorn missed the underlying meaning in his wife’s words, too wrapped up in thoughts of uniting his kingdom with Thranduil’s realm. It would be a powerful alliance, already aided by the support of Legolas and the Ithilien Elves. Yes, he thought. Eldarion’s interest in Onela was a positive development.

~*~*~*~

The three friends slowly walked back to the White Tower. It was quite late and the streets of Minas Tirith were still, the silence broken by the occasional sound of a shutting window or closing door. They passed a tavern along the way, the bright lights burning inside indicating that the citizens of the city were also having their own merriment.

The two Elves listened to Eldarion’s nonsensical rambling as they walked, his voice echoing loudly in the quiet streets. 

“Brother, you will have your hands full tonight,” Onela remarked over Eldarion’s head. 

“I shall manage” was Legolas’s light reply. 

Eldarion looked from one Elf to the other in confusion. “Was that Quenya?” he asked. 

“Yes,” Onela answered. 

“Ah, I really ought to learn Quenya,” he mused aloud. 

“I thought you already tried?” Legolas asked. 

“Hmm, I s’ppose.” The Prince laughed. “But I really didn’t make an effort,” he confessed. “I found it tedious and my teacher exceedingly dull.” They had reached the tower gates and the sentries on duty saluted them as they walked past. “But I would try again if you taught me,” he told Legolas. 

“If you wish to learn, then I will teach you.” 

Eldarion nodded, swaying slightly as they climbed the tower steps. “I’m not normally like this,” he told the two Elves. “I’m very responsible when it comes to wine, ale and other types of alcohol. It’s just that . . . I’m so very happy!” 

Onela could not suppress a giggle. “Yes, Eldarion,” she agreed. “You have much to be happy about,” she said, winking at her brother. 

They continued their walk down the hallways until they stopped outside Eldarion’s room. The Prince suddenly looked at Legolas saying, “I still have to punish you!” he exclaimed. 

Onela let out another laugh. “This is where I leave the two of you,” she announced. She leaned in conspiratorially, saying to Eldarion, “I trust you will make use of my tips tonight?” 

“Most definitely,” the Prince replied, in an equally conspiratorial manner. 

Legolas watched the exchange, an amused expression on his face. It was heartening to know that his sister approved and encouraged the relationship. Any support would help them if and when they decided to make their relationship public. 

The Elven Prince caught sight of a silent figure at the end of the hall. He motioned for her to come forward. Barra approached them timidly, keeping her head bowed as she did so. 

“Barra, is it not?” Legolas asked, confirming her name. 

“Yes, my Lord.” 

“Barra, do you know the witchroot?” 

“I don’t think so,” Barra replied uncertainly. “But the pantry is very well stocked. If it is common enough, I’m sure it would be there.” 

“It is quite common,” Legolas assured her. “It is very good for,” he paused, glancing at the swaying Prince, “easing the effects that come with alcohol.” 

“Who would need such a root?” Eldarion asked, wrapping his arms around Legolas’s waist and resting his head on the Elf’s shoulder. 

Barra smiled and looked at the floor. It would be rude to laugh. Onela, however, did not think so. 

“That is a splendid idea,” she said in her lilting melodic voice. “I will go and prepare a tonic for our young Prince to drink. That way, he shan’t have such a splitting headache in the morn.” She turned to Barra. “If you could show me the way to the kitchen?” 

“Yes, my Lady,” Barra replied. 

“I shall have her deliver the tonic when it is ready,” Onela told Legolas. “Have a good night,” she could not help adding, teasingly. 

Legolas shook his head at his sister’s innuendo. The mischievous streak in the family ran strongest in her. Supporting Eldarion with one arm, he opened the Prince’s bedroom door. It appeared his punishment would have to wait. Eldarion had grown heavier in his arms and he was fairly certain that the Prince would pass out the minute he was laid on the large, comfortable bed. Legolas would do his best to hold his attention until Barra returned with the tonic. He was determined that Eldarion take it before falling asleep. 

Legolas sat the Prince down on the side of the bed, ensuring that he remained upright. The Elf stood before him and began untying the laces of the Prince’s tunic. Eldarion batted the Elf’s hands away. 

“I have been able to dress and undress myself for over twenty years,” he said. 

Legolas arched an eyebrow. “I would hope so,” he replied. “Still . . .” The Elf ran a finger down the man’s partially exposed chest. “I thought you might find it more pleasurable for me to undress you tonight.” 

Even in his drunken state, Eldarion could not miss the seductive note in the Elf’s voice. Legolas was so good at this. He wondered who could have taught him such skill, or whether it had been innate. He lifted his eyes to the Elf, silently giving his permission. 

The Elf undid the rest of the laces, raising Eldarion’s arms in order to slip the tunic off. His white undershirt soon followed. The Prince lay down on the bed. Having Legolas take care of him was not such a bad thing, he thought hazily. 

“Stay awake,” came the Elf’s warning voice. 

“Mmmm,” was the vague reply. 

Eldarion was jolted to full consciousness by a sharp tug on his left leg. The Elf was removing his boots with an uncharacteristically rough touch. Legolas tossed them aside and stood up, hands on his hips as his eyes roamed over the beautiful body in front of him. He had left the Prince’s breeches on and he wondered how long it would be before he would see a telling bulge forming between the mortal’s legs. Eldarion craved the Elf’s touch. Legolas’s eyes glittered with the moonlight that shone through the darkened room. 

“You are wearing far too much clothing for my liking,” he told the Elf. 

Legolas merely smiled, slowly untying the laces of his own tunic with care. The Prince was hypnotized by the deliberate movement of the Elf’s graceful hands. He was reminded of Onela as she had played the harp earlier that evening. Her younger brother was also gifted with song, but the instruments Legolas played were the body in all its sensual beauty. 

The Elf slipped the tunic over his head, his golden hair falling in soft waves over his shoulders. He left his loose-fitting undershirt on, the untied laces teasingly exposing the firm chest underneath. He braced himself with his arms as he lowered himself on top of the Prince, their bodies’ inches away from one another. The tension between them was electric. It was a game of self-control that Eldarion knew he would have to learn quickly, should he ever wish to best the Elf. He refrained from reaching up and crushing the Elf’s body to his, instead firmly keeping his arms by his sides. He would not make the first move. 

Legolas smiled at the Prince’s behavior. Eldarion was proving to be a challenging lover, exactly the type he preferred. His golden hair curtained their faces as he leaned in further to breathe the mortal’s scent, ensuring that their skin never once made contact. Eldarion could feel wisps of the Elf’s hair as it gently brushed against his shoulders and face. He shivered. 

A knock at the door caught their attention. Eldarion groaned in annoyance, instinctively reaching up to prevent Legolas from moving, but the Elf had already stood up and was headed for the door. He sat back up on the bed facing the doorway, lifting his legs and crossing them underneath him as he did so. He knew that he probably looked more like a petulant little boy than a Crown Prince, but he did not care. He watched as Legolas opened the door and accepted a goblet from the pretty, blushing Barra. He thanked her and gave her further instructions, then closed the door and came back to the bed. Eldarion moved to the center of the bed, giving the Elf space to sit next him. Legolas’ demeanor had changed entirely, taking on a parental quality as he handed the goblet to the Prince. 

“Here,” the Elf said. “Drink this.” 

Eldarion lifted the goblet to take a sniff of the sickly white liquid and wrinkled his nose. “It smells foul,” he declared. 

“It does not taste much better,” Legolas replied. “Drink it quickly,” he advised. “You will hardly taste a thing.” 

The Prince looked at him dubiously. As he placed the goblet to his lips, a wicked idea entered his mind. Smiling, he said thoughtfully, “I believe I have found a more pleasing way to take this nasty concoction and punish you at the same time.” 

“Is that so?” the Elf asked with an arched eyebrow. 

“Yes,” Eldarion answered, unceremoniously ripping the Elf’s thin undershirt with one hand and tossing it aside. “Turn around,” he ordered. 

Legolas did as he was told. He could feel the cool air on his back as the man brushed his long locks over his shoulder. He jumped slightly when he felt a small amount of liquid trickle down his spine. A warm tongue soon followed as Eldarion licked the offending substance away. He repeated the procedure twice more, causing the Elf to shiver in delight both times. 

“Now lay down,” he told the Elf. 

Legolas obeyed again, all the while thinking that this was the most pleasurable punishment he had ever endured. He would thank his sister in the morning. 

Eldarion straddled the Elf’s waist while holding the goblet above Legolas’ chest. With an almost predatory smile, he poured the liquid in small lazy circles, quickly bending down to lick it before the tonic spilled onto the cream silk sheets. The man’s skillful tongue followed the trail the tonic made, taking the time to suck one nipple and then the other as he did so. By the time he reached the hollow at the base of the Elf’s neck, where the remaining liquid had conveniently pooled, Legolas could not suppress his moans. Eldarion smiled to himself as he continued to lap the white tonic. When he had licked enough of the liquid and kept it in his mouth, he reached up to give the Elf a kiss. Legolas looked at him skeptically, but accepted the bitter kiss, a distasteful look on his face when it ended. 

“I am not the one in need of the tonic,” he reminded the Prince. 

“True,” the Man replied. “But it is part of your punishment.” 

“Ah,” the Elf nodded, a faint smile on his face. 

Eldarion shifted his weight and moved downwards. Legolas was still wearing his breeches. The Prince would have to do something about that. He was vaguely aware that his own breeches were growing uncomfortably tight, but his own pleasure could wait. He derived great satisfaction from fulfilling the Elf, perhaps even more than from receiving in return. While holding the goblet in one hand, the Prince began untying the laces of the Elf’s breeches. Though not as quick and skillful as Legolas would have been, the laces were soon undone. He handed the goblet to the Elf as he slid the breeches off Legolas’ raised hips. Afterward, he took the goblet back with a quick glance inside to see how much tonic was left. He smiled. It would be sufficient for his purposes. The skilled foreplay had already made Legolas hard. Eldarion teased the slit with his tongue, causing the Elf to shift slightly. 

“I hope you will let me finish tonight,” the Prince told him. 

“I have no objections,” the Elf replied. 

“Good.” 

Like the night before, Eldarion took the Elf’s entire length into his mouth. Legolas sighed in appreciation. There was no doubt that the Prince had a talented tongue. The Elf began to think that perhaps his lover had been gifted with too talented a tongue, as Eldarion repeatedly brought him to the brink of release and then abruptly stopped his actions. When the Prince had done this for the third time, the Elf groaned in frustration and need. 

“Eldarion,” he said warningly, propping himself on his arms to look at the man. “I thought you intended to finish your actions tonight.” 

“I will . . . in my own time.” 

Legolas groaned again, lying back down on the bed. 

“I am being given a dose of my own medicine,” he commented to himself, as he looked at the shadows cast across the ceiling above him. 

“You have no idea,” the Prince replied quietly. 

The Elf was completely taken by surprise when he felt a cool liquid hit his burning member. It was instantly followed by a warm mouth. This time the Prince was no longer playing and he skillfully brought the Elf to his climax, taking care to swallow the Elf’s sweet seed, but also leaving a little in his mouth. With a sly smile he crawled up the bed, gifting the Elf with another kiss that Legolas once again accepted, his own essence washing away the bitter taste of witchroot in his mouth. 

“You are a resourceful lover,” Legolas told him. 

“Does this please you?” Eldarion asked, sitting back up again. 

“Immensely,” the Elf replied. 

Legolas’ long-fingered hands made their way to the man’s breeches and deftly undid the laces. The Prince was relieved to be free from his confining pants. The throbbing ache between his legs was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore. 

“You have not yet taken your pleasure,” the Elf said, coaxing the Prince to lie on top of him. He stopped and gave Eldarion a puzzled look when he did not respond. “Do you not want me?” 

Eldarion remained motionless, staring intently at the Elf but seemingly not seeing him. 

“Eldarion?” 

The sound of his name brought the Prince out of his reverie. “Yes?” 

“What is the matter?” 

“Nothing.” Eldarion shook his head. “Everything is fine.” 

The Elf looked at him expectantly, not believing him for a moment. 

The man sighed. “I’m afraid that none of this is real,” he confessed. “That I shall wake up any moment and discover that this has been another one of my fantasies.” 

The Elf tilted his head to one side. “You have fantasies about me?” he could not help asking, teasingly. 

Eldarion could feel his cheeks burning crimson in the darkness. Like his sister, Legolas could make him feel so young. “Yes,” he admitted. 

Instantly, Legolas sat up and the man settled himself in between the Elf’s legs. The Elf began brushing the hair away from Eldarion’s face; placing butterfly kisses on the man’s brow, eyelids and cheeks as he did so. It was such a comforting gesture. Despite his playful tone, he understood the gravity of the situation and wished to rid Eldarion of his concerns. 

“If this is a fantasy, Eldarion,” he whispered, “then we are dreaming of the same one. And when we wake, it shall be together. Whenever you lay your head down to sleep, I shall be with you.” He smiled. “Neither one of us will ever be alone again.” 

Legolas kissed the Prince deeply and Eldarion could feel himself melting against the Elf’s embrace. Legolas promised a future that the Prince wanted more than anything else. Yet his mind told him that such a future was out of their reach. There were too many obstacles in their way. Duty. Obligation. Responsibility. Tenets that had been drilled into him since he was a child. What about love? Was that not the most important tenet of all? If Legolas believed it to be, then anything was possible. 

When the kiss ended, the Prince looked into the Elf’s deep blue eyes. They had become midnight pools that mirrored his own love in the darkness of the room. He smiled and pushed the Elf back down on the bed, lying on top of him with feline grace. He would be the dominant one tonight.

~*~*~*~

Eldarion lay on his wide bed staring up at the shadows cast across the ceiling, vaguely wondering what time it was. Sleep would not come to him. Perhaps this was one of the effects of the witchroot. His head rested on Legolas’ flat stomach, gently moving up and down to the steady rhythm of the Elf’s breathing. He turned his head to look at the Elven Prince. It was slightly disconcerting to see Legolas lay with his eyes wide open. Eldarion could not tell if the Elf was asleep or not.

“Do you sleep?” he heard himself whisper. 

“No.” 

The Prince was startled by the reply. “Why do you not sleep?” he asked after a moment. 

“Elves do not require as much rest as Men.” 

“And you feel you have rested enough tonight?” 

The Prince could feel the Elf’s gentle laughter at his innuendo. 

“Why do you not sleep?” Legolas asked in return. 

“I am restless. Is this an effect of the witchroot?” 

“No,” the Elf replied. “On the contrary, the witchroot has a sleeping effect. You must be a most unusual man.” 

It was the Prince’s turn to laugh. He moved up the bed until he was lying side by side with the Elf, his body turned to face the Elven Prince. Legolas’ golden hair was strewn about the pillows and he appeared to give off an ethereal glow in the darkness. 

“Legolas?” 

“Yes?” 

“Have you had many lovers?” 

“I have had my share.” The Elf also turned on his side so that he was face-to-face with the Prince. “There are many kinds of love and comfort in this world, Eldarion. The love a parent has for a child; the love siblings have for one another; the comfort of a friend’s embrace; a warrior’s comfort given freely during respite from battle. But the most important kind of love and the one most elusive to find, is the one I have found with you. All other loves are but a shadow of what we share.” 

The Prince listened intently. He understood the wisdom behind the Elf’s words, but there was still a nagging thought at the back of his mind that would not grant him peace until it was brought out in the open. 

“And my father?” 

“I have loved your father for many years and I love him still. Nothing will ever change that.” 

Eldarion looked down, stroking the soft silk sheets with his fingers. These words were too painful to hear. The Elf caught his hand and pulled him closer, so that their bodies were touching and their legs intertwined. 

“Your father and I share a history. Fate has thrown us together so that our paths are forever entwined and yet cruelly separated.” The Elf paused to brush the man’s cheek. “Do you see how fate has come full circle?” 

The Prince shook his head. 

“Your father made the right decision years ago, when he shunned a life with me for the greater good of all. And I helped him walk that path. For if he had not given me up, you would never have been born and our love would never be. You are here to help me heal.” 

Eldarion reflected on the Elf’s words. He believed his father to be the greatest of men and now his admiration for him had increased ten-fold. His father had done what he himself would never have been able to do. Such sacrifice. The King was worthy of the Elf’s love. 

“Do you think he will see us that way?” 

“I believe so. I am certain that he will not be pleased at first, but he loves us both enough to grant us this happiness.” 

The Prince remained silent. There was another thought that was troubling him, but it was far too intimate to voice. 

The Elf smiled in the darkness. He had the uncanny ability to read the man’s thoughts. “I have never lain with your father,” he said quietly. 

“Never?” Eldarion repeated in surprise. 

“Never.” 

A sense of relief washed over the Prince, but at the same time a terrible pain struck his heart. How unbearable it must be to have such great love unconsummated. 

“There is another who is very dear to me,” the Elf continued after a moment, “whom I have known almost my entire life.” 

“Haldir.” 

Legolas smiled at the Prince’s perceptiveness. “Yes,” he answered. “Haldir has told me that once this celebration ends, he and nearly all the remaining Lórien Elves shall pass over Sea. He asked me to go with him. Of course, I did not accept,” Legolas quickly added, seeing the look of alarm on his lover’s face. “However, our time together has drawn to a close and I wish to make every moment last in our memories. I owe him at least that much.” 

“What do you plan to do?” 

“I have decided to return to Lórien with him one last time and I would like you to come with me. It may be your only opportunity to see the Golden Wood in its final days of glory,” the Elf explained, “and it would bring great joy to my heart if two of the most important people in my life could get to know one another better.” 

Eldarion smiled. He could not think of a better parting gift. “I would be honored,” the he replied.

~*~*~*~

In the misty early morning light, the King of Gondor walked through the hallways of the White Tower. Years of living within Minas Tirith could not break his ranger’s training as an early riser. In truth, this was his favorite time of day. In the peace and stillness of the morning there were no demands on his time, no royal duties yet to attend to and the King could be alone with his thoughts. He was approaching his son’s room and his footsteps involuntarily slowed until he was standing outside the door. Experimentally, he reached out and turned the handle. The door was unlocked. Aragorn shook his head. Careless of his son to leave his door unlocked, even though he was perfectly safe within the walls of the White Tower. Still, the King mused, Eldarion had quite an eventful night. Even the Prince was entitled to a slip every now and then.

Elessar knew that he should not be doing this, but his hand seemed to be moving of its own accord as it turned the handle once more and opened the door ever so slightly, just enough for him to steal a quick look inside. The sight that greeted him was what he expected. Two figures were sleeping under the covers on the large bed, his son’s arm wrapped protectively around his lover with flowing blonde hair. Aragorn smiled as he closed the door silently. 

“Your Majesty!” 

The King jumped slightly, cursing himself for being taken off his guard as he turned around. The stern expression on his face caused the poor servant girl in front of him to tremble. 

“Yes?” 

“I . . . I . . I’m sorry!” Barra stammered. “I didn’t meant to . . . I just . . I wanted–.” 

“It’s all right,” Aragorn interrupted her reassuringly. He did not mean to frighten the girl so. “What were you going to say?” 

Barra took a deep breath before speaking. “I was given instructions that the Prince should not be disturbed,” she said meekly, feeling foolish for telling the King of all people not to disturb his son. 

“I see.” There was a pause as Aragorn waited for Barra to continue. 

Sensing that more was expected of her, Barra thought frantically of something else to say. “The Prince needed some assistance last night,” she said slowly. 

“What kind of assistance did he receive?” 

“The Princess Onela made a tonic for him,” Barra explained. “Her brother said that it would help with the effects of alcohol.” 

Aragorn smiled inwardly. He remembered Legolas teaching him the same lesson in his youth. “Did the Princess give the tonic to my son?” 

“Oh no,” Barra replied, more at ease. The King had such a soothing presence. “I brought it back myself.” 

Aragorn paused. Something did not feel right. A flash of blonde crossed his mind. “Where did you bring the tonic?” 

“I brought the tonic here. To Prince Eldarion’s bedchamber.” 

“And did you give the tonic to my son?” 

Barra froze, realizing she had been caught. Her mind scrambled for another answer. “I gave it to the Prince,” she said vaguely. 

Aragorn was not fooled. “That was not my question,” he said. “Did you give the tonic to my son?” he asked again. Barra remained tight-lipped and for a moment Aragorn thought she would not answer. 

“No,” she finally replied, her voice barely above a whisper. 

“Whom did you give it to?” Aragorn persisted. 

“I gave it to Prince Legolas.” 

 

tbc


	7. The Confrontation

King Elessar sat at a corner table staring intently at the grilled sausage and eggs on his plate. He had no appetite, despite the delicious aroma of sausage that wafted to his nose, causing his stomach to grumble. He picked up his fork and turned it absently in his hand. 

“Staring at your food won’t make it disappear,” a voice lightly chided from above. 

The King looked up just in time to see his son take the seat in front him. Eldarion was beaming and Elessar knew it was not simply because he had won an archery competition. It took all his willpower to smile warmly at his son. 

“You are up early today,” he commented conversationally. 

“On the contrary,” Eldarion replied. “I am a little later than usual,” he said, indicating the already bustling breakfast hall. 

“Well,” Aragorn went on, “we are all entitled to late mornings after such eventful nights.” 

“Yes,” the Prince agreed, grinning sheepishly. “I admit I did not pay attention to my drinking last night. I believe I may have overdone it a little.” 

The King could not help but laugh at his son’s understatement. “Be honest,” he said. “Did Gimli talk you into it?” 

Eldarion’s grin widened. “No,” he confessed. “It was entirely my idea.” 

Aragorn shook his head. “Then you got what you deserved.” 

There was a comfortable silence between them as they began to eat their breakfast. Aragorn had given in to his grumbling stomach and tasted the sausage. He hoped that eating would distract him from all the terrible thoughts that kept entering his mind. 

“Why are you sitting here by yourself, Father?” Eldarion suddenly asked. “This is not our usual table. It is so secluded from everyone else.” 

“You have answered your own question,” the King replied. 

The Prince nodded. He understood the desire for privacy all too well. 

Elessar studied his son for a moment. He radiated exuberance and life. Did the Prince not have every reason to be happy? _Every reason_ , Aragorn repeated to himself. _Especially the one most out of my reach._ He looked down at his plate again. Although he had dwelt on his discovery since the time he had stood outside his son’s door, he found that he still could not think rationally about it. Could the mind ever be rational when it came to matters of the heart? 

The King looked up again. There was so much he wanted to know, but could he open such a subject? _It is best to let them come to you_ , a voice told him. _When they are ready._

“Tell me, Eldarion,” he heard himself say, while his mind screamed at him to stop this conversation before he would regret it. 

The Prince looked up expectantly. 

“You look remarkably well for someone who may have ‘overdone’ it a little last night. Have you suffered no ill effects from your excesses?” 

Eldarion smiled. “Ah, I have our Elvish friends to thank for that,” he replied. 

“Yes,” Elessar nodded. “I noticed that you left in the company of Legolas and Onela.” 

The Prince grinned sheepishly once more. Sometimes he wished his father weren’t so observant. 

“They were kind enough to help me return to my chambers,” he explained. 

“Surely that was not all they assisted you with?” the King asked, skillfully directing his questions to his desired goal. 

“As a matter of fact, no,” Eldarion answered carefully. “Onela made a tonic for me from the witchroot.” 

“The old witchroot remedy,” Aragorn chuckled. “It certainly works, but it has a foul taste.” 

Eldarion concurred, a strange smile on his face. “It also depends upon how one takes it,” he said, rather cryptically. 

“Quickly,” Aragorn suggested, not wishing to know what thoughts were in his son’s mind at that moment. “You have spent a great deal of time with Onela,” he continued. 

“Yes,” Eldarion agreed. “I suppose I have.” 

“Do you enjoy her company?” 

“Very much so. She has been groomed according to the highest standards of etiquette and noble birth, yet she is completely unlike any of the ladies at court.” 

“That is high praise indeed. You seem to be quite taken by her.” 

“I am,” the Prince replied enthusiastically. Then he paused, his father’s line of questioning becoming clear to him. 

“Do you prefer her company to that of Lady Eleanor’s?” 

“Yes, I do,” Eldarion replied slowly, his father’s last question reinforcing his fears. 

“Enough to begin formally courting her?” 

The Prince leaned forward. “Father,” he said, “you know that I do not wish to be pushed into marriage.” 

“No one wishes to be pushed into marriage,” Aragorn replied smoothly. “But one must always keep one’s options open. In our station, more often than not, it is a blessing to be able to marry someone you _love_ ,” he said, emphasizing his final word. 

Eldarion’s eyes darkened. He now knew his father’s past. Was the King mocking his own marriage with his words? The Prince would not stand for it. He would not see his mother hurt. 

“I do not love Princess Onela,” he told his father evenly. 

“You may grow to love her.” 

“I shall never love her in that way,” Eldarion insisted, growing agitated. 

“How can you be so sure?” 

“Because I love someone else!” 

A steely silence followed the Prince’s confession. Aragorn sat back in his chair, his resolute gaze holding his son firmly in place. Eldarion returned his father’s look unwaveringly. 

“Whom then, do you love?” 

The Prince refused to answer. It did not matter now. His father had found out somehow and was simply baiting him with his interrogative skills and clever questions. 

“Perhaps what you feel for him is not love,” Aragorn went on, purposely not saying the Elf’s name, “but a passing infatuation.” 

“This is no mere infatuation,” Eldarion responded angrily, his voice raised. “You of all people should know that!” 

“Lower your voice, Eldarion. We will finish this later.” 

The Prince stood up. “We will finish this now.” 

The King looked around the breakfast hall. The friendly sound of conversation and tinkling cutlery had died away. He was aware of the scene they were making. He also stood up. 

“Very well,” he said quietly. “We shall go to my study.” 

He smiled at his guests to assure them that nothing was amiss, briefly exchanging polite pleasantries with several lords as he led his son out of the hall. He caught the Queen’s eye as he passed her and also smiled at her reassuringly. But Arwen gazed back impassively, her attention focused on her son’s dark countenance. Aragorn sighed inwardly. He would have to discuss this with her as well and the implications of such a conversation did not bode well for either of them. But first, he would deal with his son. 

The walk to the King’s study only served to increase the tension between the them. The foreboding atmosphere surrounding them was palpable and all who passed them quickly stepped out of their way. Eldarion’s mind burned at the thought of his father’s insinuation, but his anger was also tempered by his fear of his father’s wrath. As soon as he stepped into the King’s study and the heavy oak door was closed securely behind him, the Prince could not contain his feelings any longer. 

“I do love him, father!” he exclaimed. “I love him like I shall never love anyone else. I know in my heart that this love is pure and true.” 

The Prince watched as the King strode to his desk and sat behind it. Eldarion remembered a time when he could not look above that large oak desk and had settled for playing at its foot. When he was a child, he believed that his father had never looked more imposing than when the King sat behind his magnificent desk and stared down those before him with his unyielding gaze, as he did now. But the Prince would not flinch. Instead, he waited for his father to speak. 

“Yes,” Aragorn said at last. “I believe that you love him. I believe that he loves you in return. He is too valiant an Elf to toy with your feelings so carelessly. But sometimes love is not enough.” 

The Prince opened his mouth to protest, but the warning look he received quickly silenced him. It would be best to let his father speak first. That would give him time to counter the King’s arguments in what he hoped would be a rational and well-thought out line of reasoning. 

“You must never forget who you are,” Aragorn began. “You are the Crown Prince of Gondor and you must bear the responsibility, duty and obligations that come with such a title.” 

The Prince’s jaw clenched. The three tenets. 

“And what would those be?” he asked, his anger rising despite his attempts to thwart it. 

“You know very well,” the King replied evenly. “Need I remind you that you are the only one who can and must produce an heir to the throne?” 

The Prince could not answer. There was no reply to give. His father’s words rang sharp and true, slicing through the Prince’s very heart. “I cannot bind myself to a loveless marriage like countless others before me. I could not live such a lie,” he said quietly. “As you have done.” 

Suppressed fury raged in the King’s eyes. “Never doubt my love for your mother,” he said, his voice betraying his emotions. “The heart has the capacity for infinite love that lives on long after we have left this earth. Legolas should have taught you that.” 

The mention of the Elf’s name hung heavy between them. This final acknowledgement was like a dagger being twisted in Eldarion’s soul. He looked down, unable to hold his father’s gaze any longer. 

“I am not you,” he said helplessly. “Times have changed, father. You made the right decisions all those years ago, so that Gondor and Arnor would be reunited and peace was brought to the land. It is your decisions that have given me the opportunity to make my own.” 

“But don’t you see, my son?” Aragorn asked gently. “You have admitted that I made the right decisions in the past. Times may have changed, but these same decisions lie before you now. You know what you must do.” 

Legolas’s words from the night before entered the Prince’s mind. _Do you see how fate has come full circle?_

Eldarion shook his head. “Everything happens for a reason,” he heard himself say. His voice sounded distant and foreign to his ears. “Legolas believes that and so do I. He told me that we are all part of fate’s design and that I am here to help him heal. I choose a different path from you, Father. It is the right path for me. And Legolas will help me walk it, as he guided you so many years ago.” 

The Prince dared to look up again. “He said that you love us both enough to grant us this happiness.” 

Elessar remained stoic and regal in his seat. The gray eyes that had flared with anger now mirrored turbulent seas as he reflected on his son’s heartfelt words. He could hear the Elf’s wisdom speaking through them, but his mind refused to acknowledge it. It was too soon. Too sudden. Too painful. His could feel own heart being wrenched in two. 

“I forbid this relationship,” he stated at last, his voice devoid of all emotion. 

Eldarion could not contain the sudden rage within him. He had spoken the truth as he knew it in his heart. How could his father dismiss it with such callousness? 

“Then you do so out of jealousy and spite!” he spat back, turning on his heel before his father could respond and quickly leaving the King’s study before the tears could fall from his eyes.

~*~*~*~

Legolas lay in the comfortable bath, his golden hair dangling over the marble edge where he rested his head. He knew that he was inexcusably late for breakfast, but the warmth that suffused through his limbs as the water gently massaged his body brought him greater pleasure than any meal ever could. _Gimli is right_ , the Elf thought to himself absent-mindedly. _I am addicted to bathing._ The thought brought a smile to his face and he closed his eyes.

His peace was disrupted by the sound of a loud knock on the door. Legolas chose to ignore it, hoping that whoever it was would eventually grow tired and leave. Unless it is the Dwarf, his mind told him. The knocking continued, growing louder and more insistent as it did so. Legolas opened his eyes. Even Gimli does not knock like this. 

“I am coming!” he called, belatedly rousing himself from the welcoming bath. His limbs protested at the effort. He grabbed the nearest towel and hastily dried himself before putting on his robe. All the while the knocking continued. Pounding would be more accurate, Legolas thought as he stepped into the room. “I am coming!” he called again, hoping to appease his persistent visitor. 

When he opened the door, a distraught Eldarion came inside raving incoherently. Legolas quickly appraised the situation, his keen hearing picking up snatches of jumbled words, “Father . . . furious . . . forbids.” 

The Elf had never seen the Prince so distressed. He closed the door and then moved to grasp the Prince by his shoulders, turning the man around to face him. 

“Eldarion,” he said forcefully, doing his best to get the man’s attention. “Take a deep breath and calm yourself before speaking.” 

The Prince did as he was told, sighing in defeat as he exhaled. When he was ready, he spoke. 

“I don’t know how it happened,” he began. “But Father has found out about us and he forbids our relationship.” The young man proceeded to retell the events that took place in the breakfast hall and then later in the King’s study ending with, “He says that love is not enough. That in my situation I must always place duty, responsibility and obligation to my people and my kingdom above all else.”

Legolas was thoughtful as he listened to the Prince speak. The words were so familiar he could practically hear Aragorn’s voice logically stating these arguments in his mind. 

When Eldarion was done, a blanket of silence fell between them. The Elf noticed that the Prince’s hands were balled into fists by his side, his nails digging deeply into the palms of his hands. Legolas ran his own hands down the Prince’s arms until he took the man’s hands in his own, unwinding the tightly fisted fingers, massaging them as he did so.

Eldarion could not stand the silence. “Have you nothing to say?” he asked, watching as the Elf soothed the red marks on his hands. More silence. “Do you not care?” he demanded. 

“Of course, I care.” 

“Then how can you remain so calm?” the Prince cried. 

“I am an Elf.” 

Eldarion was dumbfounded by the reply. Legolas continued to watch him with his inscrutable gaze, a picture of perfect composure. The Prince broke into a grin despite himself. He shook his head. Legolas always knew how to diffuse a situation. 

The Elf smiled slightly, taking the Prince into his arms. Eldarion gratefully accepted the comforting embrace, wrapping his own arms tightly around the Elf. He could feel Legolas smoothing the tangles in his hair as he nestled his head in the crook of the Elf’s neck. 

“Things could be worse,” Legolas said quietly. 

“I don’t see how,” Eldarion murmured. 

“ _My_ father could have found out about us.” 

The Prince shook with gentle laughter. 

It was during this moment of intimacy that the King found them. Elessar knew that he had to speak to Legolas as soon as possible and so had made his way to the Elf’s chambers, suspecting that the Elf might still be there. It was the morning of unlocked bedroom doors and the King had entered without so much as a second thought. He grimly looked at the sight that greeted him. 

Eldarion could feel his father’s presence rather than see it, his head still nestled in the Elf’s neck. Acutely aware of the situation, he grew tense and made to move away, but Legolas would not release him, instead holding him more firmly in place. The Elf’s silent assurance was contagious and Eldarion relaxed, feeling the warmth of the Elf’s body infuse his own. 

The Elf held the young Prince protectively as his eyes met Aragorn’s. There was no mistaking the accusation that lay in the King’s sea-gray depths. 

“It is customary to knock before entering a bedroom,” Legolas said lightly. 

“Forgive my intrusion,” Aragorn replied, “but I must speak with you. At once,” he added. 

The Elf nodded imperceptibly. “I shall need a moment to change,” he replied, releasing the Prince. 

Instantly, Eldarion missed the Elf’s embrace and he looked at Legolas with worried eyes. 

“It will be all right,” the Elf whispered. 

From anyone else, those words of reassurance would have rung hollow in the Prince’s ears. But coming from Legolas, he could almost believe them and he smiled faintly in return. The Elf went into the bathroom to change and for a moment Eldarion thought he would collapse without Legolas to support him. He went to the bed, grateful that it was only a few paces away and sat down gingerly. He could feel his father watching his every move, but he could not bear to look at the King. 

Father and son waited in the Elf’s chambers, not one word passing between them. The Prince could feel a chill in the air and he knew that it was not from the wind outside. He wished Legolas would come out of the bathroom soon. 

Long minutes passed and at last the Elf joined them once more. He immediately went to the Prince, ignoring the King’s presence for the moment. Eldarion rose to meet him. His fear and apprehension had returned full force during the Elf’s absence. He curbed the urge to hold Legolas and never let him go. Instead, he smiled nervously as the Elf held his hands again and began speaking quietly. 

“I will speak to your father now. You may stay here if you wish, until I come back.” 

Eldarion nodded. He did not have the energy to go anywhere else. He leaned in to kiss the Elf, but Legolas moved slightly, kissing the Prince on the forehead instead. Although disappointed, Eldarion understood and he stole a quick glance at his father out of the corner of his eye. The King stood waiting with his arms crossed, watching the lovers with such intensity that Eldarion could almost feel them physically being torn apart. 

With one final smile, the Elf moved away and elegantly walked to the door, waiting for the King to join him. Elessar stepped outside and Legolas closed the door behind them. Left by himself the Prince gave in to his fatigue and collapsed on top of the Elf’s bed. He was still fully clothed but found that he did not even have the strength to reach down and remove his boots. His limbs had grown impossibly heavy. Instead, he buried his head in one of Legolas’ soft pillows, allowing the scent of the Elf to surround him. He closed his eyes. Sleep. He just needed a little sleep. And when he woke up, Legolas would be there to kiss this terrible nightmare away.

~*~*~*~

The King and the Elf walked side by side in silence.

“Shall we go to your study?” the Elf asked at last. 

“No,” Elessar replied, purposely turning left and leading them away from the busier halls. “There is a small, private practice range near my bedchambers. I would prefer to go there.” 

The Elf looked at the King. “The jousting tournament will begin in a little over an hour,” he said. “Your presence is required. Éomer, in particular, would be grievously offended should you not be there. Do we really have time for this?” 

“Yes,” Aragorn replied, determinedly. 

Legolas accepted the bow and quiver the King offered him, running his hand carefully over the bow’s smooth arch. While it was not as finely crafted as his own, it still bore the mark of remarkable craftsmanship. 

“I would have brought my own bow and quiver if I had known we were coming here,” he told the King as they moved to take their places. 

“I am glad that you did not,” Aragorn answered. “It evens the odds a little to have you use one of our ‘inferior’ bows. I may even stand a chance against you today.” 

“The true skill of an archer can never be hidden by the tools of a lesser trade.” 

Elessar smiled to himself as he released his first arrow. It had always been so easy to slip into friendly banter with the Elf. His arrow hit the target. A bull’s-eye. He turned to the Elf expectantly. Legolas took up the challenge and released his own arrow. Another bull’s-eye. 

The two companions were soon deep in concentration, firing arrow after arrow into the air. After a few rounds, they paused to appreciate their efforts. Both targets were riddled with arrows, nearly all of which were in the red bull’s-eye, although the Elf’s arrows were more tightly packed than the King’s. 

Aragorn looked at the targets appreciatively. It had been too long since he had last picked up a bow and arrow for reasons other than battle. He glanced sideways at the Elf. Even Legolas seemed pleased with the archery practice. The King missed the Elf’s companionship. He knew now that that was the most he could ever hope to receive from Legolas. 

The King sighed in resignation. It was time to open the difficult subject that they had both been consciously avoiding. He could feel the Elf watching him, waiting for him to speak. 

“How long?” Aragorn asked simply. 

“Since the night of the archery competition.” 

Elessar nodded thoughtfully, a peculiar feeling of relief washing over him. He was unsure whether or not he even had the right to feel betrayed, for what had he ever promised the Elf? And yet, the knowledge that his son’s relationship with Legolas had only recently become intimate comforted him. He was reassured that the friendship and bond he had seen develop between the two over the course of several months had not been some elaborate ruse to hide more intimate relations. Such a revelation would have been much harder to bear. 

“How did you find out?” the Elf asked curiously. 

“Barra,” Aragorn replied. “She startled me this morning while I was standing outside Eldarion’s door. We spoke and she let it slip that she had given the witchroot tonic to you to give to my son the night before.” 

Legolas looked at the King oddly. That hardly seemed like sufficient information to put two and two together. Given Eldarion’s drunken state the previous evening, it was only natural that either he or Onela would have given the Prince the witchroot tonic. 

“How did you manage to deduce our relationship from that simple piece of information?” 

It was Aragorn’s turn to feel trapped, as he had knowingly trapped Barra earlier that morning. He had to tell Legolas the truth. He had never been able to lie to the Elf. 

“Well,” he began, feeling his cheeks starting to burn at the prospect of his minorly embarrassing confession. It was most unbecoming of a king to blush. “When I was outside Eldarion’s door, I found myself opening it to take a look inside. The room was still quite dark and I saw two sleeping figures on the bed. One of the figures had flowing blonde hair.” The King shrugged, another uncharacteristic gesture. “I was told yesterday by some advisors that Eldarion had been seen spending a great deal of time with your sister. So, when the three of you left the celebration last night . . .” The King trailed off and looked at the Elf. 

A mischievous smile had broken across Legolas’s face. It was a rare sight to see the King so uncomfortable. 

“You mistook me for my sister,” the Elf lightly accused him. 

“Yes, I did,” Aragorn admitted. “But is that really surprising?” he asked, in a feeble attempt to defend himself. “After all, you are one of the fairest creatures to grace these lands.” 

“You saw only what you wanted to see,” Legolas returned. “Besides, I would have thought it beneath the King of Gondor to go around opening bedroom doors in order to take a peek at his sleeping son.” 

Aragorn grew indignant. “Well, if you would remember to lock your doors – ” 

“Then I would only have delayed the inevitable,” the Elf finished for him. 

Elessar’s smile faded as the honesty of the Elf’s statement sunk in, turning the tide of their playful banter into a discussion of greater repercussions. 

“You do know that we would have come to you,” Legolas continued seriously. “We would never have wished for you to find out this way. I owe you better than that.” 

Aragorn shook his head. “No, Legolas,” he replied. “You owe me nothing. It is I who has treated you unjustly for too long. You deserve far better than me. Far better than anything I could have ever given.” 

The Elf remained silent. 

“But that does not mean,” the King said carefully, “that I approve of this relationship. My argument still stands. Eldarion has a responsibility to his people and his kingdom. He will take the throne one day. He is my only son.” 

“And you have three daughters.” 

The King looked at the Elf, puzzled. 

“They can produce the heir that your line needs,” the Elf explained. 

Aragorn shook his head again. “You know perfectly well that they cannot take the throne, nor can they produce an heir. Succession must be carried through the male child of the family.” 

“And you are King, Aragorn. It is in your power to change such rules of succession.” 

“Legolas, it is not as simple as that. A resolution of that magnitude would require the approval of my councilors, advisors and the court. Not to mention the fact that it would forever change the politics of Gondor for generations to come.” 

“Yes, that is all true,” the Elf replied. “I did not say that it would be easy. But it _can_ be done.” 

The King studied the Elf. Although perfectly composed, one would have to be blind to miss the steely determination that lay in his piercing blue eyes. Legolas had clearly given their situation a great deal of thought. He would not relinquish the Prince easily and Aragorn severely doubted that he would be able to convince his son to do the same. Still, he had never been one to give in himself. He would try a different approach. 

“Eldarion told me that you believe I love you both enough to grant you this happiness.” 

The Elf smiled slightly. “I still believe that.” 

“You are right about the first part. I do love you both. Perhaps I love you so much that I can no longer see beyond my own love to what the future may bring.” The King sighed. “As for the other matter . . .” 

“You are a reasonable man, Aragorn,” Legolas said gently. “I know that this is difficult now. But in time, I believe you will come to see the perfect symmetry of fate’s design. Eldarion is your mirror image, but he is also his own man. I love him for the traits that you have instilled in him, but I love him more for the man he is and will become. He is the very embodiment of a love that could never be.” 

Aragorn reflected on the Elf’s words. Just as his son had spoken what he had felt in his heart, now Legolas had done the same. Both messages rang clear and true, making questions of succession and politics seem inconsequential in their path. Still, the King hesitated. He was not ready to let them go. _Could_ he ever let them go? They were both too dear to him. 

“I will need more time before I can make such a decision,” he said at last. 

The Elf reached out and squeezed the King’s shoulder reassuringly. “That is all we ask.” 

The two were interrupted by a page that approached them and bowed low before speaking. 

“Your Majesty,” the young boy said breathlessly, still panting from his exertions. “The Queen has sent us out to look for you. The jousting tournament is about to begin and your presence is urgently needed.” 

“Thank you,” Aragorn replied. “Please relay to the Queen, the tournament director and our guests that I shall be there presently.” 

The boy bowed again before scampering off. 

Aragorn turned his attention back to Legolas. “Will you be joining us?” he asked. 

The Elf shook his head. “No, there are some matters I must attend to,” he replied. 

“Very well,” the King said. “Then I shall see you later.” 

Legolas watched the King’s departing figure. Their discussion had turned out much better than he had anticipated. At least Aragorn had not forbidden their relationship outright, as he had done earlier that morning in his study. 

The Elf picked up his borrowed bow once more, deciding to finish the remaining arrows in his quiver. An idea was starting to form in his mind. He would need the help of his fellow Elves to carry it out, but he had no doubt that should they succeed, it would increase the chances of the King returning a decision in their favor. As King, Aragorn had proven himself to be the most rational of Men. The Elf would have to find a way to show him that when it came to matters of the heart, the mind would not always be able to have the last say.

~*~*~*~

Eldarion turned on his side. He was still half-asleep, but he could feel another presence in the room. His eyes fluttered opened and they focused on a short figure sitting in a chair by the bed.

“Gimli?” 

“It is I.” 

The Prince sat up slowly, his head still foggy from the effects of his unusual sleep. “What time is it?” he asked. 

“It is a little after noon.” 

“Noon?” the Prince repeated. He had slept for much longer than he expected. He looked around him. What was he doing in Legolas’ room? The events of the morning came flooding back and he felt that same fear grip his heart again. “Where is Legolas?” he asked urgently. 

“Legolas is fine,” the Dwarf assured him. “He is with the Ithilien and Greenwood Elves making preparations for tonight’s performance. He regrets that he cannot be with you for the moment and has asked me to keep you company today.” 

Eldarion smiled. “Are you my baby-sitter, then?” he chided. “Here to ensure that I don’t do anything impulsive and rash?” 

Gimli shook his head, secretly pleased that the Prince was in such good spirits. 

“You have been spending too much time with the Elf if you really believe that,” he scoffed. “I would never degrade myself to the status of a _baby-sitter_ ,” he said, the last two words dripping from his lips with derision. “It just so happens that I have nothing better to do. The jousting tournament will be on all day and I have no desire to see pompous Men on those infernal beasts trying to knock each other down with exceedingly long, pointy sticks. If that isn’t the height of stupidity, then I don’t know what is.” 

Eldarion laughed heartily at the Dwarf’s comic description. “I have never quite seen jousting in that way before,” he said. “It is, after all, a sport for ‘men of honor,’” the Prince emphasized. 

“‘Men of honor,’” the Dwarf mocked. “Perhaps they ought to have some sense knocked into them first.” 

“Well, since we are clearly not going to the jousting tournament,” the Prince said. “What would you have us do instead?” 

“First of all, I would have us take some lunch,” the Dwarf stated, standing up and stretching as he did so. “And I don’t mean the fancy palace food that you are accustomed to ingesting,” he added. “I want real food from a tavern or one of Minas Tirith’s more common establishments. It is time you stopped living such a sheltered life. The more time you spend with me, young Prince, the more you shall learn about the real world.” 

The Prince smiled. Ever since he had met Legolas and Gimli, he had indeed been learning more about the ‘real world’. Gimli’s good humor and boisterous personality was just the remedy he needed to take his mind off his predicament. Just as Onela had been the ideal companion the day before, the Dwarf would be the perfect companion today. Eldarion reflected on how carefully Legolas planned everything. For one who believed in fate’s grand design, the Elf never left anything to chance. 

 

tbc


	8. Infinite Love

The Queen of Gondor sat in her gold gilded, velvet brocade chair with her arms stretched by her sides, allowing her ladies-in-waiting to carefully do the intricate buttons on the sleeves of her gown. When the last button was done, the Queen smiled in thanks and reached for the pearl necklace that lay on her dressing table. 

“Allow me,” a deep voice said. 

Arwen waited as her husband strode into the room and came to stand behind her. She smiled at him as he appeared in the mirror in front of her. Aragorn returned the smile, accepting the necklace from the Queen as he did so. Arwen nodded to her ladies-in-waiting and they curtseyed before leaving the King and Queen in peace. 

Aragorn placed the necklace around his wife’s neck, securely fastening the delicate gold clasp. The necklace was his favorite and he had it commissioned specially for the Queen. It was a simple, but elegant necklace made of a single strand of fine pearls with a magnificent ruby pendant set in its center. The jewel caught the richness of the Queen’s dark eyes and stole Aragorn’s breath away. He truly loved her. Their passion had not cooled with the passing of years, yet there was so much she did not know. So much he wished to tell her, but how could she possibly understand? 

“I did not see Eldarion at the jousting tournament today,” Arwen commented, applying a drop of scented oil to her neck. “In fact, I have not seen him since the morning meal.” She arched a questioning eyebrow at the King. 

Elessar took a deep breath. His confessions could no longer be delayed. 

“Yes,” he said slowly. “No doubt you witnessed our little disagreement in the breakfast hall this morning?” 

“There was not a person present who could have missed it.” Although her words were harsh, the Queen’s rebuke was softened by the lightness of her tone. “Will you tell me what this disagreement was about?” 

“It appears our son has fallen in love.” 

“And you do not approve of his choice?” 

“His choice is . . . unconventional,” the King said carefully, resting his hands on his wife’s shoulders. 

Arwen smiled inwardly at her husband’s carefully worded phrase. “I always thought that he was not suited to Lady Eleanor,” she continued. “She is a gracious and highly intelligent young woman, but our son needs someone who can temper his youth, while at the same time letting him grow; someone who can guide him, while letting him be true to himself. Someone who is as young at heart as he is.” 

Aragorn looked down and silently shook his head, believing that his wife had a particular Elven Princess in mind, a mistake he had been guilty of himself, which is why her next words were a complete shock to him. 

“Someone like Legolas.” 

The King’s head jerked up, his eyes captured by his wife’s piercing gaze. “You knew of their relationship?” he asked, incredulously. 

“No,” Arwen admitted. “But I knew that Eldarion had fallen in love with him from the first moment they met. And I suspected that Legolas felt the same, but that unresolved issues were preventing him from returning our son’s feelings. I see that is no longer the case.” 

The King found himself shaking his head again at this wife’s perceptiveness. The gift of Noldor sight ran deep in her. “I take it then that you approve?” 

“I wish for our son to be happy,” Arwen replied. “And there is no one who can bring him greater happiness than Legolas.” 

Aragorn sighed. Were all those he loved against him? 

“Have you forgotten that he is our only son? That he will take the throne one day and that he must produce an heir?” 

“No, I have not forgotten.” Arwen watched her husband’s reflection carefully. “Nor have I forgotten that we have three beautiful daughters. It is possible, my love,” she said gently, “to change the rules of succession so that they may bear the heir for your line.” 

Aragorn had a rueful half-smile on his face. “I have heard this argument before,” he told his wife. 

“Then it is no wonder that you love us both.” 

The Queen’s steady gaze continued to hold Aragorn in place. There was no mistaking the meaning behind her words. The King found that he no longer had the strength to stand. Piece by piece his world was crumbling and he feared that soon his very foundation would be razed to the ground. How could so much have passed without his knowledge? All this time, he believed that he had been the one keeping secrets from those he loved most. Now it appeared that they too had their own secrets to share. The truth was always hard to face and Elessar knew not what to make of these sudden revelations. For one who prided himself on his keen vision, the road had become dark and uncertain. He may as well have been a blind beggar stumbling in the street. He moved away, slowly walking to the armchair by the hearth and sat down heavily. 

“You have known all this time.” 

It was a statement, not a question and Arwen could detect the note of resignation in her husband’s voice. She stood up and went to him, the velvet folds of her gown billowing gently as she sat at his feet. 

“It is not difficult to see great love if one knows where to look,” she said, placing an ivory hand on his knee. 

“Arwen,” the King said, leaning forward and taking her hand in his own, “you must never doubt my love for you. Our marriage has not been a lie. I would not change a single day that we have spent together.” 

The Queen squeezed his hand reassuringly. “I have never doubted your love,” she said in return. “I have wondered in the past, whether you would have chosen differently if fate had not given you such a heavy burden to bear. But such thoughts are foolish and do nothing but breed uncertainty and distrust. I would not have that come between us.” 

Aragorn was moved by his wife’s heartfelt words. He felt that he did not deserve her understanding. 

“What happens now?” 

“Only you possess the answer to that.” 

“What would you have me do?” 

“I cannot tell you what to do, Aragorn.” 

The King smiled slightly. “Then what advice do you have to offer?” he asked, rephrasing his previous question. 

The Queen shook her head, but there was a glint in her eye. “It is time you made peace with Legolas,” she said. “It is time for you to release him.” 

“How can I release that which does not belong to me?” 

“Do you not see, my King?” Arwen asked, gently squeezing his hand once more. “You have kept his heart in your hands. Only you can set him free.” 

“How do I do that?” 

“Legolas will show you.”

~*~*~*~

Eldarion stood in the wings of the royal theater. The performance would begin soon and yet the backstage activity was strangely calm and measured. It was a far cry from the hectic pace and frantic last minute scrambling he had seen from other groups of players. _Elvish composure_ , the Prince thought to himself with a shake of his head.

“Have you been waiting long?” 

Eldarion smiled as he turned around. “I have been waiting all day,” he replied, as he moved to embrace the Elf. 

Legolas kissed him and the Prince returned the kiss deeply and urgently. His anxiety rose whenever he was left alone and the fear that his time with Legolas had ended before it had even begun was ever present in his mind. 

When the kiss ended, the Prince found himself in the now familiar position of resting his head on the Elf’s shoulder. He sighed. 

“Do you know what I plan to do?” Legolas asked him, while gently stroking his back. 

Eldarion nodded. “Onela has told me.” 

“Do you understand what my offer may lead to?” 

“Yes.” 

“And what do you have to say?” 

Eldarion looked up. “Do you seek my approval?” 

“And permission,” Legolas answered, studying the Prince carefully. 

“It is but one night.” 

“One night may mean all the difference between a lifetime of happiness and one of distrust. I would not have the latter.” 

“And we shall not,” Eldarion responded confidently. “I am certain of that.” The Prince’s brow furrowed as the Elf continued to gauge his reaction. How could he assure Legolas that he understood? “I cannot explain it,” he said slowly. “But I know that this is the way it must be. If you do not make peace with my father, there will never be a future for us and I shall remain forever in his shadow.” 

Legolas smiled and kissed the Prince on the forehead. “You possess wisdom beyond your years.” 

“My parents have raised me well,” the Prince replied, “and now I have you to guide me.”

~*~*~*~

The Prince of Gondor entered the theater from one of the side wings and made his way to his seat. Along the way he passed by the Guardian of Lórien, who was deep in conversation with Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth. They both nodded in respect to the Prince and Eldarion returned the gesture. He could also feel the King’s eyes following him and he curtly acknowledged his father before sitting down.

“Is everything well?” Onela asked on his left. 

“Yes,” Eldarion replied. 

The Princess smiled reassuringly and gave his hand a gentle squeeze. 

“There is nothing to worry about,” Gimli stated from his right. “Although he often does not look it, that Elf knows what he is doing.” 

Eldarion couldn’t help but chuckle at the Dwarf’s remark. He had listened to Gimli’s often scathing comments all afternoon and was yet to grow tired of them. Even praise for his dearest friend was veiled by a touch of sarcasm. 

“No matter what happens,” he told them softly, “we plan to leave tomorrow morning. We will journey with the Lórien Elves to the Golden Wood and stay with them until they are ready to depart. It will give us time to decide what to do.” 

“It is a wise course of action,” the Dwarf agreed. “Distance and time brings clarity to the mind and calms the emotions.” 

The Prince smiled to himself, feeling at ease in between his companions. Onela and Gimli were loyal and true, he could not have hoped for stauncher supporters. He glanced around him and his attention was caught by the Steward of Gondor as he moved to take his seat beside the King. 

“What news, Faramir?” Aragorn asked in greeting. 

“It appears our Elvish friends have changed the program for this eve,” Faramir replied. 

“Is that so?” the King asked curiously. “Do you know what performance they have planned instead?” 

“I have some idea,” the Steward responded. “Lindfir suggested that they were going to perform a rather obscure tale that tells the story of a doomed love. Interestingly, it is not an Elvish tale,” he added, “but has its origins in southern lore.” Faramir paused, trying to recall the tale. “Once upon a time, there were two magnificent kingdoms by the sea. It was a period of great unrest and there was much looting and pillaging by warlords throughout the lands. In order to fortify their realms, the neighboring kings decided to arrange a marriage between their only children. Naturally, the Prince and Princess were unhappy with the prospect of an arranged marriage, but they also respected their father’s wishes. They understood the strength that would come from such a political alliance and so they consented.” 

Elessar found himself nodding his head in agreement. It was a tale that clearly illustrated the very tenets he had instilled in his own children, particularly his son, from their youth. Perhaps tonight’s performance would give Eldarion more to dwell on. 

“The marriage was to take place on board a glorious ship, so that neither kingdom would be favored. Both kings considered the ship to be ‘neutral’ ground,” Faramir continued. 

“Fate appeared to be smiling upon the Prince and Princess, for they fell completely in love the moment they laid eyes upon each other. They knew then that their marriage would not simply be a political alliance, but a true marriage of happiness and bliss.” 

“That is fortunate indeed,” the King commented. 

“Ah, but the tale does not end there,” Faramir continued. “On the night of the wedding ceremony, there was a terrible storm and nearly all on board perished. The two lovers were separated before they could even take their vows. The Princess and her family managed to make it on board a lifeboat, but the Prince was thrown into the raging seas and never heard from again. Fortunately, the boat carrying the Princess and her family was able to make it to land, but the Princess was heartbroken and cried for many moons. 

“The kingdom of the Prince fell into disarray. With the death of their King and his family, the noble lords fought amongst themselves for the right to claim the throne. Their lack of unity proved to be their downfall and their land was soon overrun by the cruel warlords. Eventually, the Princess married another Prince from a more distant land, providing the political alliance that her family needed to survive. Although she did not fall in love with him at once, he was a good, kind man and in time, she grew to love him. But despite her newfound happiness, the Princess lived a life veiled by shadow, for she was never able to forget her lost love.” 

“The tale has a bittersweet end,” Aragorn said. 

“That is not the end, your Majesty,” Faramir chuckled. “That was only the beginning.” 

“The beginning?” 

“Yes,” Faramir replied. “This tale has a rather interesting twist, for the Prince did not perish the night of the storm. A sorceress had seen the Prince through the eyes of her raven and desired him for herself. Watching the wedding ceremony through her magic pool, she created the storm that would separate the Prince from his betrothed and bring him to her. The rolling waves washed the Prince onto an enchanted island where the sorceress lived. When he awoke the next day, he found himself in a comfortable bed, his cuts bandaged and an exotic raven-haired woman with gleaming bronze skin by his side. 

“‘My name is Melena,’ she told him. 

“The Prince had no memory of who he was or how he came to the island. Melena simply told him that she had found him on the shore and brought him to her home to care for him. He soon discovered that he was on a magical island and that Melena herself was some sort of witch. The Prince decided to remain on the island with her, but as the years passed his heart grew restless and he could not explain why. 

“One day he found a dolphin trapped by an old fishing net that he had left behind. He immediately went to help the poor creature, which thanked him once it was free. The dolphin wished to repay him for his kindness and so told him the truth about Melena. 

“Melena was a lonely sorceress, trapped on this island by her former Master for betraying his secrets to a mortal man. To ease her loneliness, she sent out her raven to scour the lands in search of young men who could be worthy companions and then would find a way to lure them to her magical island. The men would have no memory of their previous life and would live out the rest of their days on the island with her. 

“The Prince was horrified to hear such a tale. He confronted Melena and demanded to know the truth about his identity. Shocked by the Prince’s fury, Melena told him about his heritage, the arranged marriage and the storm. The truth of his stolen life enraged the Prince further and Melena’s pleas for him to remain with her fell on deaf ears. He built a ship and left the island to return to his former home. 

“In her anger and spite, Melena placed a curse on the Prince, condemning him to a life of eternal loneliness. Any who would fall in love with him or even offer him their comfort would crumble like a pillar of sand. The curse could only be broken by a kiss from the woman he loved. 

“The Prince returned to his former kingdom, which had by this time become a safe haven for cutthroats and thieves. Mindful of his curse, he became a cold, cruel man so that no one could possibly love him or seek his friendship. He moved effortlessly among the criminals, finally growing tired of an outlaw’s life and joining a band of wandering players. The players were wary of him at first, but they could not deny that he was a talented actor and drew large crowds with his performances. The Prince became Nadir-Khân, the most feared villain on stage. With his black silk cloak and matching porcelain mask, which he never removed in public, the fame of their troupe spread far and wide, until they were invited to perform in the kingdom of Alsacia, where his former love now lived and ruled as Queen. 

“Knowing that this was his only chance to break Melena’s curse, the Prince asked his fellow players to perform a special play that eve. They thought it a strange request but consented, owing their success to his arrival. That night, unbeknownst to the players, they performed the story of Nadir-Khân’s life until the very moment when the Prince himself stood on stage and removed his mask for all to see. The Queen had been visibly moved throughout the play, but nothing could prepare her for the sight of her beloved alive and well. She knew then that the performance she had witnessed had been the ordeals that the Prince had faced.” 

Faramir stopped suddenly and looked at the King. 

“Well?” Aragorn said questioningly. “What happened then?” 

“I do not know,” the Steward replied. “Apparently, Lindfir does not know either. The end of the tale has been lost.” 

“How unusual for the Elves to perform a tale that they do not know the ending of,” the King commented. 

“Perhaps,” Faramir responded. “I have grown used to the Elves of Ithilien, but I cannot deny that I still find their ways different from ours. Besides, Lindfir appeared convinced that Legolas would know what to do.” 

Elessar looked at his Steward for a moment, trying to discern if there was any underlying meaning in his words, but could find none. He glanced at his son, who was engaged in conversation with the Dwarf. The King was beginning to sense that the play to be performed that eve would have a special significance for them both. _Legolas will show you._

The velvet curtains opened and the performance began. The Elves greatest form of expression was song and so, unlike the plays performed by Men, their tale had been set to music with a chorus narrating the events. Aragorn was not surprised when Legolas himself appeared on stage in the leading role of the Prince and the King watched fascinated as the events of the tale unfolded before him. It was exactly as Faramir had recounted. 

When the moment came for Nadir-Khân to remove his mask and reveal his identity to the Queen of Alsacia, Aragorn found himself leaning forward in anticipation. The music had stopped and the theater was filled with a hushed silence. As the mask fell from the Prince’s face, Legolas did a most unusual thing: He turned to face the audience and spoke in his clear, harmonious voice. 

“Your Majesty,” he said with a sweeping bow, locking eyes with the King as he did so, “I have traveled these lands for many years in the guise of a wandering player. I am weary of this life of isolation and I no longer recognize the man that I have become. I come to you now in search of peace, for only you can remove this terrible curse that has been placed upon me. It is time to put the past behind us, lest their shadows remain forever cast upon our future.”

~*~*~*~

The remainder of the evening went unnoticed by the King of Gondor. He sat through the sumptuous dinner after the performance; he danced with the Queen in the grand ballroom; he discussed new treaties with delegates from South Gondor; he congratulated Eomer on the success of the Rohirrim at the jousting tournament. Yet in his mind, time had frozen the very moment Legolas had stood onstage and stretched out his hand saying, “I am but a poor player in fate’s design and I have naught to offer one who has everything, except myself. I do so willingly. Will you see me tonight and lay the past to rest?”

Elessar knew he would accept. Could one night unravel the web they had spun for themselves or would it simply weave another intricate strand? He pondered this as he approached Legolas’ door in the silent hallway. His hand reached out to turn the knob, then paused in mid-air. With a sly smile he lifted his fist to knock first. He had barely completed the action when the door swung open of its own accord. Shaking his head he stepped inside, taking the time to ensure that the door was safely locked behind him. 

He strode into the center of the room and surveyed his surroundings. There was a candle burning on each bedside table, casting flickering shadows on the tapestry-covered walls. The scent of jasmine hung heavy in the air, mingling with a sweeter scent that Aragorn recognized as belonging uniquely to the Elf. Legolas was nowhere to be seen, but he could sense another presence in the room. 

“First, you do not lock your doors,” Elessar said aloud, “now you do not even bother to close them.” 

“It is the sign of an open invitation,” came the reply from behind him. 

Aragorn did not turn around. Instead, he waited for the Elf to move in front of him. Legolas did so elegantly, until he was standing face to face with the King, close enough to smell the wine on the his breath and the musk upon his skin. 

“A dangerous proposition,” Aragorn responded. “For anyone may choose to accept.” 

The Elf shook his head. “It was made to one person only and I am pleased that he has come.” 

“Who is this person, Legolas?” the King whispered. 

“He is my friend,” the Elf whispered in return. 

“Just a friend?” 

“I know now that friendship is all that fate will grant us and no longer shall I hope in vain.” Legolas paused to brush a lock of hair behind Aragorn’s ear. “But for this one night, we shall steal from fate what has been deprived of us for so long and we shall do so with the blessing and understanding of those we love. There are no kings and princes in this room. Just two dear friends who shall share in one another’s love.” 

No sooner had the Elf stopped speaking than Aragorn had wrapped an arm around Legolas’s slender form and pulled him close, claiming his mouth in a passionate kiss, his tongue seeking and being granted entrance. Their kisses grew more urgent and clothes were quickly discarded. It was not until Legolas found himself on his back on the soft sheets of his bed did he give pause and place a hand on the man’s broad chest. 

“There is no need to rush,” he said softly. “I would have us savor the moment.” 

“And I would not have us waste a moment,” Aragorn replied, before claiming the Elf’s sweet lips again. 

But Legolas would not be swayed, displaying his strength by reversing their positions. Slightly winded, Aragorn looked up at him in surprise. Legolas wore that secretive fey smile he so loved and he sighed in contentment as the Elf gifted him with soft kisses, trailing them down his face and neck, taking the time to suck one nipple and then the other. Instinctively, Elessar’s hands drifted to the Elf’s back, his fingers running teasingly up and down the Elf’s spine causing Legolas to moan. When the sensations threatened to overwhelm him, the Elf broke free and looked at the man with dark eyes. 

“Turn around,” he said raggedly. 

Aragorn obeyed, hard with anticipation. He could feel the Elf mount him, the added weight pushing him deeper into the bed, the gentle friction from the silk sheets giving his throbbing erection a moment’s reprieve. He heard a small popping sound as Legolas uncorked a bottle. Elessar held his breath as the Elf’s now oil-slicked hands rested on his back and then exhaled under their soothing ministrations. 

Legolas began massaging the King’s tense shoulders, his nimble fingers manipulating the man’s back with skill, moving ever downwards, easing the knots and tightness he found along the way. He applied more oil to his hands before kneading the man’s firm buttocks, a slender finger slipping down the cleft to graze the puckered entrance. Carefully, Legolas slipped a finger inside. Aragorn remained relaxed. He had been with other men in the past, when the hardships that came with a ranger’s life had lead him to seek comfort in a warrior’s embrace. 

The Elf continued his exploration, adding a second finger as he did so. When Aragorn moaned in pleasure Legolas smiled to himself, brushing the man’s sensitive gland once more to take note of its placement. He withdrew his fingers, all thoughts of ‘savoring the moment’ leaving him as the desire to feel the King clench around his aching flesh took hold. Aragorn needed no further preparation and the anticipation between them grew as the Elf positioned himself. With a firm hold on the man’s hips, Legolas pushed himself inside, withdrawing slightly and then entering again, repeating the process until he was fully sheathed. With a sigh of contentment he laid himself on top of the King, marveling at how well their bodies seemed to mold together. 

“Move,” Aragorn said, his voice laced with need as he pushed back against the Elf. 

Legolas planted a kiss on the man’s back before he obliged, delighting in the tightness surrounding him. 

“Harder,” Aragorn urged. 

The Elf increased his pace, driving harder and deeper into the King. The man’s cries echoed in the chamber as the Elf hit his secret spot with each carefully angled thrust. His hands clawed at the bed sheets in pleasure and he arched his back, turning his head slightly to look at the Elf. Legolas captured his mouth in a brief kiss, a porcelain hand weaving its way down the King’s body to grasp his leaking shaft. With practiced skill the Elf stroked and squeezed the length to the rhythm of his thrusts. Aragorn could feel his climax approaching and he grabbed hold of the bedpost in front him, bracing himself for the moment when they came as one, the Elf’s seed spilling deep within him. Legolas lay on top of him as waves of pleasure wracked their bodies. 

At last the Elf fell on his side facing the King, too spent to move. Aragorn turned and drew him closer, wrapping an arm around him possessively. Legolas snuggled against him, feeling secure and sated in the man’s embrace. He felt so tired all of a sudden, as if the burdens and worries on his mind had been taken away. Finally, he could allow himself to relax, to be at peace. 

“Legolas,” Aragorn said softly, his lips brushing the tip of a pointed ear, “about that play you performed tonight . . . I have never heard that tale before.” 

“That is not surprising, Aragorn,” the Elf replied sleepily, “for I invented it.” 

The Elven Prince smiled to himself as the gentle rocking of the King’s laughter and the love and warmth of his embrace soon lulled him to sleep.

~*~*~*~

Aragorn could not rest. His heart was still troubled as he watched the sleeping Prince in his arms. Legolas had never seemed more beautiful. He could not remember anymore how long he had desired this. He thought back to the quest to destroy the One Ring and the many nights he had kept watch, his eyes inadvertently drifting to the resting form of the Prince, whose eyes were glazed in peaceful Elven reverie, as they were now. He had never felt so weak with temptation so near, the call of the Ring whispering insidiously in his mind. _Take me, Aragorn. Wield me. Only I can give you that which you desire._ A lump formed in the King’s throat at the thought of the Ring’s lies. Deception. Deceit. False promises were all it offered. And yet, how he had wanted to believe!

A tanned hand reached out now, as Aragorn gently traced the contours of the Elf’s face. First the brow and then the finely sculpted cheekbone, the outline of the delicate nose, his hand finally coming to rest on the Elf’s soft lips. A tear ran down his cheek as his fingers brushed these lips he so longed to kiss. It took a moment for him to register the gentle pressure being exerted in return as the pads of his fingers were kissed one by one. Aragorn blinked in surprise as a porcelain hand took hold of his own and the Prince turned to face him. 

The smile on the Elf’s face faded and he released the King’s hand to brush away the tear from the man’s face. 

“Why do you weep?” he asked, his melodic voice filled with concern. 

Aragorn let out a harsh laugh. “I weep for us,” he replied bitterly. “I weep for this one stolen night and I curse the cruelty of fate for keeping us apart. For I know that I shall lose you tomorrow as sure as the sun rises.” 

“You could never lose me!” Legolas said urgently. “Although I have stayed in Ithilien, I have always been with you. I live here,” he said, placing his hand on the man’s heart, “where love never dies. And if you ever have need of me, you have but to call and I will come, no matter how great the distance, no matter the obstacles in our path.” 

Aragorn could feel his resolve weakening. “I love you, Legolas,” he said, choking on his heartfelt words. “I have always loved you.” 

“And I you, Aragorn.” 

“You deserve such happiness,” the King whispered, calming his emotions. “I cannot deny you or my son.” 

“Let us not speak of that now,” the Elf said, running his hand down the man’s firm chest. “There is much time to resolve questions of the throne and your heir.” His hand traveled deeper, brushing the curls of the man’s groin until he reached his desired goal, the member springing to life under his touch. “This is our night,” he continued, stroking the hardening shaft. “I said that we would share in each other’s love and now it is your turn. I want to feel you in me. I want us to be one in body, one in soul.” 

The Elf sealed his request with a kiss, allowing the King to move on top of him. He wrapped his long legs around the man’s waist, pulling him closer, not breaking their kiss. His spine straightened in response to the pain when Aragorn entered him, but it quickly faded, lost as he was in the sheer bliss of being with the one whom he had loved for so long. Aragorn set a languid pace and the Elf responded in turn, laving the man’s neck with wet kisses and gentle nips as his own erection remained trapped tightly between their bodies. He could taste the salty tears as they fell on his face and he knew that Aragorn was crying once more. 

“Infinite love, infinite love,” the Elf whispered over and over again, the mantra echoing in the otherwise strangely silent room. 

He held his lover tightly and closed his eyes as he felt the man spill deep within him, his own release coming soon after, warmly wetting their sweat-sheened bodies. The King’s tears were falling freely now and Legolas could hear him asking for forgiveness. 

The Elf’s heart broke at the sound of Aragorn’s hushed whimpers and he held the man close. He wished to share in the man’s pain, but no tears would come for he could not cry. Instead, he whispered Elvish nothings into his lover’s ear until Aragorn wept himself to sleep.

~*~*~*~

Sunlight gleamed through the cracks of the drawn curtains as Legolas lay on his back, the King’s head on his chest. Aragorn was still in peaceful slumber. The Elf knew it was growing late and that Eldarion and the others would be waiting for him. He glanced down at the man’s sleeping form, gently disentangling himself from the warm embrace. Aragorn shifted slightly, but did not wake.

Soundlessly, the Elf made his way to the bath. His movements were quick and efficient as he bathed and put on fresh clothes for his journey. He had packed his belongings the day before and they were waiting by the door. When he was ready, he returned to the bed where the Aragorn still slept and brushed the man’s hair.

“Namarië, Aragorn,” he whispered. “May the Valar keep you safe and may we both find peace at last. Know that I shall love you always.” With these words he kissed the King’s brow and quietly slipped out of the room. 

Aragorn was having a beautiful dream in which Legolas stood over him, radiant and bathed in golden sunlight. He whispered words of farewell and immortal love and the King understood. The golden light was enveloping him, caressing him, bringing him peace. 

“Namarië, Legolas,” he whispered in his sleep. “I, too, shall love you always.”

~*~*~*~

Legolas walked down the hallway, his heart and his step light. He made his way to the courtyard, where he had agreed to meet Eldarion and the Lórien party.

A woman was standing just outside the courtyard’s entrance. Legolas did not have to wait for her to turn around to know that it was the Queen of Gondor. Her smile was as radiant as his own. She moved to meet him, taking his hands and leaning upwards to kiss him on each cheek. 

“Have you found your peace?” she asked him. 

“Yes,” he answered. “Have you found yours?” 

“I made my peace with him many years ago,” she said, “without him ever knowing it. It is for you that my heart has ached. I am sorry, Legolas, for so many years of pain.” 

The Elven Prince shook his head. “Dear Arwen, there is nothing for you to be sorry for. You have never caused me pain by your actions. I have caused myself pain by my choices. I chose to love your husband, knowing that my love could never be returned. Now all is well and it is your thanks I seek. You have given me greatest gift of all, for that I can never repay you.” 

“Legolas, you already have,” the Queen said earnestly. “I could not have wished for a worthier mate for my son. I know that you shall love him and treat him as he deserves. I entrust his future to you and I want you to know that both of you shall always have a home here in the White City.” 

“Thank you, Arwen,” Legolas replied, embracing the Queen warmly. “We shall always come home.” 

When the embrace ended, the Queen gave the Elven Prince once last knowing look before he stepped out into the morning sunshine. Legolas breathed deeply of the morning air, his senses heightened by his state of happiness. The light reflected off the glimmering city buildings was clearer, the air crisper, the sound of chirping birds more musical to his ear. He looked at the steps below where Haldir stood in between two steeds, stroking the neck of Legolas’s mount as he listened to Gimli speak. Eldarion was already mounted, a braced arm leaning against the pommel of his saddle. The Prince looked up to see his lover standing at the top of the courtyard steps and his heart filled with love. He knew that it would always be like this. With a wave of his hand, he motioned for the Elf to join them. Legolas smiled, swiftly descending the steps. 

“It is about time,” the Dwarf declared when he saw the Elf approach them. 

“I apologize Master Dwarf for my tardiness,” Legolas replied, with a regal bow. 

“It must be a special morning indeed,” Gimli commented, “if I am blessed with an apology from you.” 

“Is all well?” Haldir asked the Elven Prince with a slight tap on his arm. 

“Yes,” Legolas said, nodding. “It could not be better.” 

In one smooth motion the Elf mounted his steed, bending down to assist the Dwarf. With Gimli seated securely behind him and Haldir on his right, Legolas leaned across to kiss the Prince, not caring who saw or what they thought. Their love would not be hidden behind closed doors and they would face their challenges together as they came. For Legolas had learned long ago from a scruffy Ranger that both Elven and human hearts possessed the capacity for infinite love. 

**~The End~**


End file.
